Passages
by Medieval Scribe
Summary: Will and Djaq decide to stay behind in the Holy Land. This is my idea of their lives post-Sherwood. Will bear no resemblance to Series 3.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_This is the beginning of an AU story idea that has been rattling around my brain for some time. Basically, it's a chance for me to explore certain themes in the RH universe, while also attempting to write something with an actual plot, which is almost a first for me. Of course, the plot itself has been completely jossed by Series 3. *sigh*_

_I have been posting this fic elsewhere, and I want to thank my readers, especially Wenrom31, Ravenya03, Biancaneve and MissWed, whose encouraging comments have made it possible to keep writing this thing. Finally, a great big thank you to freelancerrh (or rebeldivaluv) whose excellent beta work has made this fic readable.  
_

Prologue

The party had been traveling three long days and nights, and they were exhausted. They were far from home, and with little food or water between them, they were not sure how much longer they would last. Still, the end was nearly in sight. In another half-day, they would almost certainly be at their destination, where food awaited them and**,** if they were lucky, a place to sleep as well.

They were part of a caravan of French pilgrims, dusty travelers who had sought God and salvation through the Way of St. James and were now returning home. Godfroi de Gand rode at the head of the caravan. He was a Flanders wool merchant who had once hoped to serve God by becoming a knight and joining the Crusades, but now conten**t**ed himself with leading pilgrims to Compostela and back. This particular group of travelers was the usual motley crew of minor nobles, merchants and peasants, and a strange young couple who had joined the caravan just as it was leaving Compostela.

It was clear to Godfroi that the two were not French, although they spoke the language passably well. He was also nearly certain they were not pilgrims. For one, they were far too young to be worried about their souls, and for another, he had never seen either one of them inside the many small churches the caravan had passed on its way north from Compostela. Finally, neither of them wore rings, meaning they were unwed, and young people who were not married rarely risked the wrath of the Church by going on a pilgrimage.

Godfroi watched them carefully now as they spoke quietly to one another in a language he could not quite understand. It sounded vaguely like Spanish, but more than that he could not guess. They made a striking pair, or would have if they were not so weary. The man, barely more than a boy, was tall and paler than most Spaniards, his clothes well-worn and travel-stained. He carried nothing except a leather satchel and tool belt, and he wore a forbidding expression that kept the other travelers in their company at bay. The woman, equally young, was small and pretty, and although her clothes were just as worn and stained as his, they gave the impression of wealth and breeding, as did the look of polite indifference that Godfroi had seen on the faces of so many young noblemen and women. At first, he had mistaken her expression for a friendly one, and perhaps it was, but he was soon rebuffed by her companion's manner.

Still, Godfroi had not become a successful merchant without some persistence, and he was curious enough to chance conversation. He slid out of the saddle and began to walk his horse in their direction. After a time, the woman gave him a nervous half-smile, clearly curious about his intentions.

"Horse needs to rest." He spoke in French, and the woman apparently understood, because she nodded. But she said no more, and it was a few minutes before Godfroi could think of something else to say.

"What part of Spain are you from? You're not from Compostela."

Again, the woman smiled, and this time, Godfroi noticed a pair of bright, intelligent eyes, apparently taking his measure. He shifted uncomfortably, but was put at ease when she spoke.

"No, not Compostela. From…somewhere farther south." Her French was heavily accented, but otherwise perfect, a clear sign to Godfroi that she was an educated woman.

"Your friend. He does not speak?"

She laughed. "He does. When he needs to."

"What's your name?"

She looked taken aback, and at first, Godfroi wondered if he had been impolite in asking. But then it struck him that she was taking too long to answer and he knew the name she gave would be a false one.

"Maria. My name is Maria."

"And his?" She seemed uncertain and looked to her companion for direction, but the man said nothing.

"He calls himself 'Spaniard.'"

At this, Godfroi laughed. "Yes, and I call myself Flemish, but it is not my name!"

She did not answer, instead casting her eyes down, letting him know the conversation was over. Godfroi sighed in frustration and then turned his attention to the man.

"So. Do you have a name, young man?"

For the first time, the man turned and looked at Godfroi, amusement clear in his bright green eyes. "Of course I have a name. Everyone does."

Godfroi chuckled. "Yes, that is true. But do you have a name you would like to tell me?"

Like the woman before him, the young man hesitated, but after a moment, he gave Godfroi an answer.

"Daniel."

Godfroi nodded. "Very well, Daniel. And Maria. We will be in Roncevaux two days from now. There is a church there where we can rest." He thought he saw the woman shiver in response, but decided she was simply tired. "Perhaps we will speak again soon."

Godfroi climbed back into the saddle and, nodding to both of them, he rode to the head of the caravan. He did not know it at the time, but the young man had given Godfroi his real name.

He was Daniyal ibn Al-Ahmar, he was a Saracen, and he was traveling to England to kill his father.

--

_"Ahmar" is the Arabic root word for the color "red" (I think). You do the math!_


	2. Chapter 2: Goodbye and Hello

Goodbye and Hello

_Cordoba, Andalusia (Spain)_  
March 1216

Daniel flattened himself against the wall. The alley was dark, except for occasional streaks of light cast by oil lamps in windows still open to the night. He was leaving this place forever, and right now, it felt less like a departure and more like a narrow escape. He was almost certain someone was following him, but in the dark, he could not see his pursuer or make out the man's exact location.

He sighed. It had only been an hour since he had set out from the house of his patron. That man had been none too pleased at his departure, and had made his displeasure quite plain. He wondered idly if the man had set goons on him to prevent him from leaving, but considered it unlikely. After all, Rashid Al-Khaimah was an important man with far better things to worry about, and Daniel was a nobody, an apprentice stonemason in a house filled with artisans and craftsmen. Still, he had been close to Rashid, who had been generous with his money and his knowledge, and it was only fair that the man would be upset over Daniel leaving his employ, perhaps even upset enough to be dangerous.

He was barely outside the city walls of Cordoba now. He had less than a day to make the rendezvous at Villafranca, where a wagon train of pilgrims would take him to Compostela and into France on the Way of St. James. From there, he would make his way somehow to England and finally to his target, wherever that turned out to be.

It was not that he was particularly interested in the pilgrimage, although the craftsman in him was curious about the great churches being built in Spain and France along the Way and beyond. His motivation was more practical. Pilgrims always managed to find food and lodging, and they traveled in relative safety, even if they made their way slowly. But he was in no hurry. He had already waited a lifetime for this chance.

A soft footfall and the rustle of fabric alerted him once again to his pursuer. The man was very close now, barely a foot away from where Daniel stood. Hoping to gain the upper hand, Daniel reached for his knife, grabbed his pursuer and pinned him to the wall, only to drop the knife in surprise.

"Ayesha? What are _you_ doing here?"

--  
_A week later, en route to Compostela_

Ayesha tore off a small piece of the hem of her dress and surveyed it. It had once been fine cloth of the sort only the very wealthy could afford, but was now dirty and frayed beyond repair. She tossed it aside, not wanting to be reminded of the life she had left behind, nor of how ill-considered her decision to follow The Spaniard, a Christian without wealth or name, had been.

She watched him now as he dozed under the shade of a tree. It was the first time in nearly a week she had seen him rest. Asleep, with all the pretense and mystery set aside for a while, he seemed very young and not a bit like the man she thought she knew.

It was the mystery surrounding him that had drawn her in the first place, partly because it ran completely contrary to the routine and order of her life. She was the daughter of Rashid Al-Khaimah, one of the wealthiest men in all of Andalusia, and her life had been planned and set before her even before she learned to speak properly.

But things had not gone quite according to that plan. For one, although she imagined some men found her pretty enough, she was not the great beauty her older sisters were, nor was she a gifted singer as her own mother had been. For another, she had always been far more interested in books than in suitors. She had discovered the wonders of mathematics and physics at a very young age, and her father, bewildered but intrigued, had indulged her interest by arranging for her to study with the best minds in Andalusia. Probably he had hoped that she would wed a great scholar, another ibn Rushd perhaps, who would bring pride and glory to Rashid's own family. But she had turned away far too many suitors, and, in the end, Rashid had grown impatient and betrothed her to a distant kinsman.

That, however, was not the reason she had run from her home and her life to follow The Spaniard on this uncertain journey. She had done it because she was in love with him. Although they were friends and had spent many an hour talking and debating, she had not discovered her heart until rumors of his departure had begun to filter through Rashid's house. She had been unsure of her feelings, so new and raw, and certainly she had no inkling of his, or whether he even bore her any affection. But when she had seen him leave the grounds, her decision had been made.

She had followed him through half the city and outside of it before he had slowed enough for her to catch up to him. He had been stunned to see her, but, surprisingly, he had not tried to dissuade her, nor even press her for an explanation. After admonishing her to remove her veil and speak only in Spanish, he had said nothing else, preferring to keep his own counsel.

They were almost at Villafranca before he had asked her anything at all.

"Won't they look for you?"

"No."

"You are so certain? By now everyone there knows you are missing. Your father would want to find you."

"I left him a letter. Told him I was running away with Haroun the butcher."

"That is...badly done. Does it not bother you that an innocent butcher will pay for your...whim?"

"No. Or yes, it would have bothered me. If Haroun existed."

He had the sense to look surprised, and then he seemed somewhat impressed. He laughed, for the first—and so far, only—time on their journey. It made him handsome in a way she was only just beginning to notice.

"What is your real name?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. But it would be nice to know, just the same."

He shook his head. "You should not have come."

"I know. But I am here now. You may as well grow used to it."

--

A/N: Daniel and Ayesha are, of course, the two pilgrims from the prologue. I know I (intentionally) misled readers into thinking they were reading about Will and Djaq, and I'm sorry about that. If it's not clear by now, I'll just tell you that Daniel is Will's son. Ayesha is his traveling companion, and ultimately, she will be his mirror and conscience. Or something like that. ;)

Because this story spans several years in time, I generally start each chapter with a dateline (and a location, if needed). For the purpose of this story, I assume that Robin and the rest of the gang left the Holy Land sometime in late December 1193 or early January 1194. Also, I hope to update once a week, unless real life kicks my butt.

For the curious, the Way of St. James was the most important pilgrimage route in the Christian world during the Middle Ages. It has existed for nearly a thousand years, and is still a popular destination, but for tourists rather than pilgrims. Ibn Rushd (or Averroes), who is mentioned in this chapter in passing, was one of the predominant polymath Muslim philosophers and critical thinkers of his time, and he was, like Ayesha, a Moor from Andalusia.


	3. Chapter 3: Of Monks and Marriage

Of Monks and Marriage

_King Richard's Camp, outside Acre_  
March 1194

Will shuffled his feet, trying not to appear so uncomfortable. His discomfort was partly because of the heat in this tent, but mostly it was because of the officious little man who had wandered in just moments before.

He was clearly a man of the cloth, a monk of some sort, if the graying white robes and the wooden cross dangling at his waist were anything to go by. Men of the cloth made Will uneasy. It always seemed as if they were saying something completely different than what their words actually meant.

"You are Will Scarlett?" He spoke with a thick Norman accent, much as the king himself did, and this made Will even edgier than he already was.

"Yes. I'm here to see the king. I sent a message a few weeks ago."

The man nodded, then waved Will into a camp chair, taking the other one for himself.

"I am sorry to tell you this, Master Scarlett, but I'm afraid your journey has been in vain. The king is not here."

"Where is he? Is he going to be back soon? I am prepared to wait."

The monk shook his head. "He was called away to the south on urgent business. I cannot be certain when he will return." He steepled his fingers and regarded Will for a moment.

"If it is a pressing matter, you can tell me, and I will be glad to apprise His Grace of your situation."

"Thank you. But it's private, and, if it's just the same, I would rather tell the king."

Once again, Will felt the scrutiny of the monk's gaze; this time, the man smiled at him.

"Ah, forgive me. I have been remiss. I did not introduce myself."

He stood up and held his hand out to Will. "I am Brother Philippe de Courcey, of the Cistercian order. I am also the king's principal aide here in Acre. I would be happy to help you in any way I can."

Will shook the monk's hand and then considered his options. It took nearly an entire day to travel to the camp from Bassam's house in Acre. If this man was the king's advisor, perhaps it would be alright to deal with him.

"I want to get married, and I came to ask the king's permission."

"Well, that is good news indeed! Weddings have become less frequent in Acre, so I'm always happy to hear of one. And the king's men will no doubt enjoy the wedding feast!"

Will gave de Courcey a halfhearted smile, unsure what to think or say next.

"I assume the lady—your intended—is from one of the Frankish families here in the Holy Land. Or perhaps she is English?"

Will shifted in his seat, the tent suddenly far more oppressive than it had been a moment ago. "Um, no. She's not English...she's from Acre, actually."

De Courcey looked surprised. "From Acre? An Antioch Christian? That is...unusual. But still, it is a wonderful way to cement our presence in these lands, and I cannot see that the king would object."

"Perhaps I know the family. What is the lady's name?" the monk asked as he pulled out a piece of parchment and began scratching something onto it with a quill.

"Dj...Saffiyah."

The quill stopped writing, and de Courcey narrowed his eyes.

"That is a Saracen name."

"That's because she's a Saracen."

"You cannot marry a Saracen."

"Why not? You just said it would be a good way to 'cement our presence.'"

"It is against the law. An Englishman cannot marry anyone other than a Christian woman."

"That's only the law in England, and we are not in England right now."

"It is not so simple..."

"I will speak to the king when he returns. Surely..."

"There are things in this world that are greater than the laws made my men, you know."

Will stood up, uneasy and irritated with the whole interview. "None of that matters to me. If you can't help me, then I'll be on my way." He was nearly out of the tent before he felt the other man's hand on his shoulder, drawing him back inside.

"This Saracen...was she the one that came here the last time...with Robin of Locksley and the rest?"

Will frowned and then nodded.

De Courcey smiled genially. "Yes...I think I remember her now. An attractive sort of woman..."

Something about the monk's tone of voice disturbed Will, and he found himself reaching for the hatchet at his belt, only to realize he was unarmed. He balled his hand into a fist, but somehow bit back the urge to strike the other man.

"Look," De Courcey spoke, his voice filled with remorse and sympathy Will was sure he did not actually feel. "You're not the first Englishman to find himself involved with a Saracen woman. If you cannot extricate yourself, then perhaps you should do as the others do...keep her as a mistress, hidden away somewhere..."

Will shoved him away and then hit him square in the jaw for good measure, sending de Courcey to the ground in a heap. He grabbed the monk by the cowl of his robe. "You...you will not speak of her that way again." Then, disgusted, he dropped de Courcey back to the ground and made his way out of the tent.

In the distance, one of Bassam's men waited patiently to escort him back to Acre. Will gestured in the man's direction to let him know that all was well and he was ready to leave. Or he would have been ready to leave if a large and hulking man was not blocking his path.

"Did you just strike Brother Philippe!?"

Will noticed with some dismay that this man too appeared to be a monk of some sort. He groaned.

"Um, yeah. We had...a disagreement. He's not hurt."

"No, I suppose not. Besides, knowing Brother Philippe, I suspect he had it coming."

Will frowned. "You're an Englishman?"

"Yes. A Yorkshireman, actually. I'm Brother Tuck." He held out his hand, and his manner and tone were so different to de Courcey's that Will found himself almost liking this monk.

He took the proffered hand. "Will Scarlett."

"Ah, you're one of Robin of Locksley's men, aren't you?"

"Yes. Or I was, but I...we decided to stay here in the Holy Land."

"We?"

Will did not answer immediately, beginning to feel uncomfortable, but also wanting to shield Djaq from any more insult.

"I came to get the king's permission to marry, but he's not here. And Brother Philippe..."

"He objected to your marriage? That's strange. Why?"

Will sighed, tired of being questioned. "Because she's a Saracen, and I'm not."

"Ah." Tuck scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment and regarded Will. "Why should that stop you?"

"I...it...it doesn't, but it's against the law, I guess."

Tuck nodded. "It's my experience that most of our laws are made to ensure that the rich stay rich and the poor stay poor."

Will smiled and wondered idly how two men of God could be so very different.

"I think, Will Scarlett, that you should marry your Saracen, and never mind about some English law. There is little enough love in this world of war, and I don't think God would mind such a marriage."

Will nodded, as a thought came to him suddenly. "Will you marry us?"

Tuck looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I don't think your Saracen bride would appreciate being married by a Christian monk." He clapped Will gently on the shoulder.

"Besides, a man has never needed a priest to be properly married. Take her hand, promise yourself to her and pray, and I'm sure God will bless your union as he blesses all others."

Will found himself strangely moved by this, so he bowed his head to the monk. Tuck hesitated for a moment and then gave him a silent blessing.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. Perhaps we will meet again, Will Scarlett."

"Perhaps."

--

A/N: Yes, it really is _that_ Tuck! I've avoided using the term "friar", because the mendicant orders that used the term "friar" did not exist in the 12th century. Also, I made Tuck a Yorkshireman because the Friar Tuck of legend was allegedly from Fountains Abbey in Yorkshire.

Brother Phillippe is an awful man, but he is right. It was illegal for a Christian to marry a non-Christian at the time. Will is risking excommunication from the Church, which would have been a very big deal to someone of his era and background. Plus, out-marriage was also a secular crime, i.e. a hanging offense. I don't think the show's writers considered all the implications of leaving Will and Djaq in the Holy Land, but hey, it gives us fic writers that much more to think about!


	4. Chapter 4: Contract

Contract

_Two days later, at Bassam's house_

Djaq sat on a bench in the courtyard of Bassam's house, enveloped in a blanket to keep the cool desert night at bay. She was waiting for Will, as she often did in the evenings. It was the one time of day when they were free to meet and talk and simply be together without the curious—and often disapproving—glances that were usually cast in their direction.

It was also the one time of day she felt completely free to be herself. Here, at night and with only Will for company, she did not suffer either the constraints of being Saffiyah or the confusion of being Djaq. It had taken barely two weeks for the novelty of being Saffiyah again to wear off, but she could not go back to being the scruffy outlaw Djaq had been either. Too much had changed;she had changed.

She sighed and pulled her feet inside the blanket. She was warm now and about to nod off when she heard footsteps and saw Will approaching her. She stifled a yawn as he sat down next to her.

He gave her a small**,** apologetic smile. "I'm sorry I'm so late. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"It's alright. But where have you been all this time?"

"I went to the market. With Faisal." Djaq nodded. Faisal was the only one of Bassam's retainers who spoke a little English, and for reasons she did not quite understand, he also seemed to like Will a great deal.

"Did you buy something then?"

He gave her a strange look and then shook his head. "No, but I did find a man selling very interesting tools."

"Oh?" She liked to hear Will tell of his experiences in the market at Acre, if only because he seemed so awed by everything around him.

"Yes. There was this one thing...like a circular blade with a handle that you could turn to get a rounded edge. You know, the round bits are really hard to make, and..."

He stopped and gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry...I get a bit carried away sometimes."

She laughed. "It's alright. That is why I love you." It surprised her a little how easy it was to say such a thing to him, given how difficult her first revelation had been.

He looked amused. "You love me because I'm like a small boy at Christmas sometimes?"

"Yes, but that is not the only reason." She laughed again and then, on an impulse, reached out and took his hand.

Will colored predictably, but just as she began to lean towards him, he stiffened and abruptly pulled his hand away. He tilted his head in the direction of one of the high windows that overlooked the courtyard. "Someone's watching, you know."

"Someone is always watching, Will."

"I know." He looked at her intently for a moment and then cleared his throat softly. "I went to see the king yesterday."

"And did he approve?"

Will shook his head, and Djaq felt her heart sink for a moment.

"He wasn't there."

She breathed a sigh of relief. She was never sure what to make of this Richard, the English king, especially after he had repaid their trust with suspicion and left them for dead in the desert. Still, Will felt he owed the man an allegiance, and so she had agreed that he could travel to the Crusaders' camp to ask King Richard for his blessing for their marriage, although the idea that she had to wait for a decision from the English king troubled her. That he had not been in camp was the real blessing in Djaq's mind.

"I don't think it really matters with the king anyway." There was something about Will's tone that was not quite right, but Djaq could not put a finger on it, so she decided to let it go.

"Have you spoken to Bassam yet? About all this?"

"No, Will. Not yet. I need to prepare...study some things before I talk to him. I think tomorrow perhaps?"

Will nodded. "You know...I really ought to talk to him first."

"Why?" She could not resist the urge to tease Will a little, so she feigned seriousness and pressed on. "Do you not trust me to do it properly?"

"No, it's not that! Of course I trust you..." He caught Djaq trying to hide her grin behind her fingers. "Djaq!"

"I'm sorry, Will. It's just...I'm sorry. Tell me why you want to talk to Bassam first."

Will shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose because…if this were England, I would have to ask him for your hand, and it seems wrong to not be doing it."

"Well, this is not England, and it is not the way things are done here."

"I know. And there's a chance that Bassam won't even agree. Right?"

"Yes. Though I think there is only a small chance of that." She sighed, feeling tired and somehow defeated by all this talk of their marriage. "Sometimes I wonder if all this is more trouble than it's worth."

"Hmm."

"I cannot understand why it has to be so complicated for two people to marry." Her voice sounded a bit shrill even to her, so she bit back the rest of her words and let the quiet of the night take over.

They sat together, not speaking, for several more minutes, until Will finally broke the silence.

"You know...we could just run away."

"Oh? And where would we go?"

"I don't know...somewhere." He gave her a wry smile. "I could pretend to be an Englishman, and you could pretend to be my Saracen wife."

She laughed, and then, not caring if anyone was watching, she kissed him softly. "I like that idea, Will. Let us do it."

-ooo-

A day later, Djaq stood in the doorway to Bassam's study and watched as he shuffled a few pieces of parchment. She had always been very fond of him, but, in thinking of him as a kind-hearted and elderly pigeon handler, it was easy to forget that there was another side to him, another life in which Bassam Al-Akkari was a powerful and influential man. She suspected it was this other Bassam she was seeing now, and it made her a little wary.

She cleared her throat softly. "Bassam _ammo_?"

He looked up and gave her one of his usual broad smiles. "Ah, yes! Saffiyah, come...come and have a seat. You wanted to see me?"

She shuffled the sheaf of papers she was holding, stalling for time while searching for the best way to open the matter of her marriage to Will. Bassam waited patiently, but ultimately, he raised an eyebrow at her. Djaq, deciding to simply plunge ahead, handed him the papers.

He began to read but looked up at her in surprise after just a second.

"Is this...what I think it is? A...marriage contract?"

"Yes. I drafted it myself, but I have no experience with such things, and I thought to bring it to you first."

"I...I don't understand, Saffiyah."

"Why? Is something wrong with the language? Is it unclear, because it can always—"

"No, it's not that. I just don't understand how...how any of this is possible." Bassam leaned forward in his chair and regarded her cautiously. "Does Will know about all this?"

"Yes. He has not seen the contract, of course, but he is aware of it." She gave Bassam a polite smile, but abruptly, a new thought came to her, and she cursed herself for not having thought everything through.

"Forgive me, _ammo_. I did not mean to surprise you. I was certain that you knew that Will and I intended to marry one day."

In truth, Djaq did not really care if she and Will were properly married. They were one in spirit, and that was more than enough for her. Indeed, it was more than she had ever expected to have. Still, it seemed to matter a great deal to Will, and so, she was willing to make what effort she could to see it happen. She would never tell him, but she found his concern for her virtue and her place in the world endearing—even laudable. It angered her more than a little that the world, her people and his, were intent on thwarting a good man's small hope for a happy life.

She felt her composure slipping and took a deep breath to calm herself. "I would not have you go to any trouble on my account, of course."

"No, no. I would that you were properly wed, of course…if only it were possible." Bassam sighed. "The problem is that I do not think this is possible. A marriage of this sort would not be proper."

"Why do you say that?" This was the one part of her conversation with Bassam that she felt prepared for. She had read as much as she could on the matter and felt she had a reasonable argument to make.

"Because Will is a Christian, of course."

"And what does that matter? Christians are _ahl al-Kitāb_, after all."

"Yes, but the Qur'an forbids a Muslim woman from marrying a Christian man. You know this as well as I."

"True, but it does not say this in so many words. It is a matter of some scholarly debate among—"

"Stop, Saffiyah. You know that is not true. No _qazi_ would ever perform such a marriage. This contract would not be valid in any court."

"You do not need a _qazi_ for a marriage. And the validity of a marriage contract is only important if the marriage is ending." She gave him her most genial smile. "I think it is safe to say that this is not a concern for either Will or me."

She dropped her eyes, feigning embarrassment, and hoping Bassam would be mollified by this.

"Saffiyah, please understand. I want you to be happy. But I don't wish to do anything that would not be proper. In the eyes of others."

Djaq bristled. "Others? What do I care about that, _ammo_?" Aware that her tone bordered on impolite, she softened her voice a little. "I have dressed as a man and lived openly with strange men in a strange land. If I had cared more for the eyes of others, I would have been dead long ago."

Bassam leaned back in his chair and poked at the surface of his desk, lost in thought. Djaq shifted nervously, wondering if she had said too much.

But then he spoke, his voice so soft she had to lean in to hear him.

_"And among His signs is this, that He created for you partners from among yourselves that you might live in tranquility with them, and He has put love and mercy between your hearts."_

Djaq let out the breath she had been holding and smiled at Bassam, recognizing the lines Bassam had spoken from the Qur'an. "Thank you, _ammo_."

Bassam got up from his chair and went to the window, beckoning Djaq to join him. The window, like many others in the house, overlooked the courtyard. In the distance, Djaq could just make out Will's lanky form sitting on a bench, lost in some task. She suspected he was probably carving something, and the sight made her smile in spite of herself.

Presently, Bassam turned to look at her. "You know, this does not change anything. He will still always be an Englishman."

"I know. But this way, he is _our_ Englishman."

Bassam chuckled, and made his way back to the desk. He sat down heavily in his chair and faced Djaq once again.

"What do I say to those who ask me if the marriage is proper, if the contract is valid?"

"Ordinary people do not care about the validity of marriage contracts, _ammo_. They only know what they see, and if they see me marrying Will, they will see that he is my husband, and I am his wife. Is this not a good thing?"

"It's..."

"Do you not wish me to marry him then? I would not push you to do anything against your wishes."

This time, Bassam did not hesitate. "No, it is not that. I have no objection to Will. Save that he is an Englishman, of course." He sighed.

"It's just...I did not think it was possible until now. I am still not sure, Saffiyah. I think I need some time to think on it."

Djaq nodded, still unsure whether Bassam would give his assent to the marriage.

"Do you wish to have a proper _nikāh_ then?"

"That is up to you, _ammo_. I—_we_ would not want you to go too much trouble."

He waved her away as if she were speaking nonsense. She chuckled, although she was still in doubt as to his final decision. As she rose to take her leave, Bassam held up a hand to stop her.

"Why is Will's name not mentioned in the contract?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot to bring that to your attention. I found his name very difficult to render in our tongue. Perhaps you have a suggestion, a way to do it properly?"

Bassam scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I will look into it, see what I can do."

She nodded, beyond grateful for his kindness and generosity. "Thank you so much, _ammo_."

He cleared his throat nervously. "Er, yes." He tuned back to the documents on his desk, but just as she was leaving, he called out to her.

"Saffiyah? Have Will come and see me. Soon."

-ooo-

_A/N: First, the term _ahl al-Kitāb_ means "People of the Book" and refers to anyone who professes a belief in the One God, i.e. Muslims, but also Christians and Jews. From my research, it appears that the Qur'an allows Muslim men to marry Christian or Jewish women. But the reciprocal situation is not allowed (i.e. a Muslim woman is not allowed to marry a non-Muslim man). So technically, any marriage between Will and Djaq is legally impossible in both their cultures/countries. But "legal" never really stopped anyone ever! :D_

Second, I'm pretty sure "Will Scarlett" is not difficult to render phonetically in Arabic. That's just something I made up.


	5. Chapter 5: Forever

Forever

Will brushed a few errant shavings off the surface he was carving. It was the cover of a wooden box he was making as a present for Djaq. The box was in fact not the actual gift but rather something to put the gift in. He had wanted it to be as close to perfect as possible, so he had taken far more time with it than was really needed. He was just about to whittle a small piece of wood out of the top when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"My lord Bassam." Will rose and offered the older man his seat on the bench. "I'm sorry...I didn't see you there."

Bassam smiled genially and took his seat, motioning Will to join him. "What is that you are making?"

Will shoved the box and its cover into a pocket in his tunic and shrugged. "Just...something. I like to keep busy."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Bassam hesitated and looked uncomfortable. "There was something I wished to speak to you about, actually."

Will nodded, fairly certain he knew what this was about, but neither that knowledge nor Bassam's manner did anything to dispel his own anxiety.

Bassam shifted in his seat, not quite meeting Will's eyes. "I am sorry I was not able to speak with you when you came to see me the other day. I was...busy."

"That's alright. I understand how—"

Bassam appeared not to hear Will.

"Or no, I was not busy. But I was not prepared to talk to you then." Bassam shrugged and then gave Will a feeble smile. "In truth, I am not certain I am prepared now!"

Will shook his head. "I'm sorry. I should have come to you first, instead of having Djaq speak to you. It would have been proper—"

"No. Nothing about any of this is proper!"

Will bristled, but as he opened his mouth to protest, Bassam held up a hand and silenced him.

"Please do not misunderstand me, Will. It is not that I disapprove of you..." He let his voice trail off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It is...I have some misgivings about it."

"What sort of...misgivings?"

"Well, for one, it is not legal. Here or in your own country." He paused and gave Will a searching look. "For another, you are not an outlaw here."

Will looked away, unsure of what to say as Bassam continued.

"What I mean is that you—and Saffiyah**,** as well—you cannot always be outside the law, you cannot be so openly defiant. You are part of the world now, and that world has rules. Your marriage would...bend those rules."

"That doesn't matter to me. Or to Djaq."

"If it does not matter, then why insist on it? Why not live as you do now?"

Will hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much he could push Bassam on the matter. "Because...it wouldn't be real. It would be like pretending."

"Your marriage would not be real, either. You would still only be pretending." Bassam sighed. "I am sorry, Will."

_It would be real for us._ "It's not really pretending if everyone sees us getting married. People are simple. They don't care about laws. They only know what they see."

Bassam shook his head. He put a hand on Will's shoulder. "I wish I could give you a different answer, but I cannot approve of this marriage."

"No. There must be some way you can—"

"No. I would do what I can to make Saffiyah happy. But I fear that such a marriage will draw unwanted attention, and I do not wish her to be wounded any more.

"But I like you, Will. I think you are a good man, and so I would not wound you, either. In my house, you are free to be as you have always been. And so is Saffiyah."

He patted Will's arm sympathetically and began to leave the courtyard. Will watched his back as he walked away, and a sudden thought came to him, a reminder from Robin to always fire a last arrow, just in case.

"Do you know what they call her?"

Bassam stopped in his tracks but did not turn around. "What?!"

"Do you know what they call Djaq? In the city, in the market." He thought back to his meeting with the monk at the king's camp. "Even the Crusaders."

Will fixed his eyes on Bassam's back. "They call her the Englishman's...." Will let his voice trail off, unwilling to speak anything so vile about Djaq, but knowing his meaning would be understood. "Wouldn't you rather they called her the Englishman's wife instead?"

-000-

Will turned away from the sound of someone knocking at his door, hoping that ignoring it would make it go away. But the knocking was harsh and insistent, and somewhere in the back of his mind, where he was neither drunk nor angry, Will considered this might be important enough to wake up for.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rose to open the door. He had barely pushed at it when it swung open to reveal Faisal, one of Bassam's servants.

"You and me. We go now. To the market."

"Right now?" Will ran a hand through his hair, wishing his head was less foggy.

"You do not look good, Will Scarlett." Faisal sniffed at him. "You do not smell very good either."

"Yeah. Well, I—"

"It does not matter. Get dressed. We have to go now."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"Get dressed now. I will tell you later."

Will hesitated, then shrugged it off. Whatever Faisal was getting him into, it was probably better than wallowing in bed. The conversation with Bassam had left him feeling angry and despondent in turns, and later, when he could not find Djaq anywhere in the house, he had felt desperately lonely, alone in a world that had no place for him. So he had found himself a jug of wine and a dark corner. For a few hours at least, the wine had dulled his ache and made him believe that nothing really mattered anymore.

In hindsight, it had been a bad idea. Will's head was pounding, and he was having a hard time keeping up with Faisal as they wound their way through the streets of the city. Eventually, Faisal stopped in front of a small building with a number of dingy storefronts.

"Here we are," Faisal said with a flourish as he began to walk over to the first shop, where an elderly man sat on the floor surrounded by fabric.

Will managed a weak smile. "Alright. But why?"

"Ah. I should tell you now. We are here to get new clothes for you."

"New clothes? What's wrong with my old ones?"

Faisal regarded him carefully. "Hmm. Nothing is wrong. But you need new clothes for your wedding. It is custom here."

Will was about to protest when the import of Faisal's words sunk in. "My...what?"

"I should tell you that also. My master has agreed that you can marry the lady Saffiyah. This Friday."

Will stared at Faisal, incredulous and confused. "But how...it does not...I mean, I..."

Faisal shrugged. "I do not know how. My master did not tell me. He said I should make sure you bought new clothes. That is all."

Will nodded, still bewildered that Bassam had changed his mind somehow. "Faisal...you know I don't have enough money." _Or any money._

"You do not buy. Lord Bassam buys. It is custom for the bride's family to pay."

"It's the same in England."

"Is it?" Faisal said it dismissively, as if this was none of his concern, and Will decided to keep his thoughts to himself. It was just as well, as he could hardly believe how his fortunes had changed in the space of a day. He and Djaq were finally going to be married. Everything would be alright. Indeed, everything would be perfect.

Will allowed his thoughts to wander, thinking about Djaq, and whether she was as happily surprised as he was just now. He was brought back out his reverie when Faisal nudged him none too gently in the ribs.

He pointed to a bolt of fabric. "You like this?"

Will shrugged. He had never worn anything in his life but coarse wool and linen, and clothes were not something he concerned himself with. "Yes, it's fine."

Faisal nodded and spoke rapidly to the old man in the shop. The man nodded in Will's direction, and Faisal turned to Will. "He wants to measure you. For the clothes."

Will submitted happily to being measured, pushed and prodded, amused at the way Faisal was fussing over him and his new clothes. His mind turned once again to Djaq, and he could almost hear her laughing softly at him and his current situation.

He sighed, and the sound drew Faisal's attention.

"Something is wrong?"

"No, I was just...no, nothing."

Faisal smirked, perhaps having guessed the direction of Will's thoughts.

"There is one more thing that my master asked me to tell." He looked away and said something in Arabic to the man taking Will's measurements, who recoiled immediately and scurried out of the room. Will frowned.

"What was that about?"

Faisal ignored him. "You are to have a new name."

"What?"

"A new name. You are to be called Azm al-Ahmar from now on."

A small spark of resentment flared to life in Will's chest. "I already have a name. What's wrong with my name?"

Faisal laughed. "You are too angry. You must learn to control that."

"What is wrong with my name?"

"Nothing...it is an English name. Too hard to write in Arabic."

Will nodded, although he suspected that was not the real reason for the new name. "Say the name again." It struck Will that he sounded imperious, almost rude, so he amended quickly. "Please. I didn't catch it the first time."

Faisal said the name again, this time slowly and carefully for Will's benefit. Will repeated it a few times, finding the sounds strange and uncomfortable on his tongue.

"Do not worry. I think you will always be Will Scarlett."

Something about the way Faisal said this amused Will, and he laughed. "I'm going to have to learn Arabic, I think."

-000-

Will stood in the shadows in the kitchens of Bassam's house watching Djaq as she cut herbs and tied them into neat little bundles. Her movements were quick and deliberate, yet somehow strangely graceful, and he found himself completely mesmerized. It was almost exactly the way he had felt when they had been in Sherwood, and it left him feeling helpless and rooted to the spot. He had to make a real effort to break the spell and calm himself.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat gently to get her attention.

"Will! What are you doing here?" She smiled and held out her arms in greeting, but the smile fell a moment later. She frowned and reached up to touch Will's face, her fingers warm against his skin. "Is something wrong? Are you alright?"

He covered her hand with his own and tried to regain his composure. "No, I'm fine...I just needed to see you."

She took his hand and led him inside. "I am glad you came then. It has been almost two days, after all."

He chuckled, oddly pleased that she was keeping track of how often they met. "I came to find you yesterday, but I didn't know where you were."

She dropped his hand and looked away. "I have had things to do...preparations for...the wedding." She looked up at him now, and she smiled. But it was a forced gesture, and there was something odd about her tone of voice. She sounded almost frightened.

On an impulse, he drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She stiffened but then relaxed into his embrace, burying her face in his shirt.

"Djaq? Are you alright?"

She pulled away from him and covered her face with her hands. Will watched in alarm, thinking she was crying, but as she moved her hands away, she looked annoyed, almost angry.

"Yes, yes, I am alright." She sat down on the floor, exasperated. "Or no. I am not alright. You cannot even imagine what the last few days have been like. A thousand different people asking me to do a thousand different things!"

She was obviously vexed, so Will suppressed the sudden urge to laugh, hiding his grin by ducking his head, so she could not see his face.

She pulled up the sleeve of her dress and thrust her arm out at him. "Do you know I had to sit still for nearly four hours yesterday? Just for this?"

For the first time, Will noticed the marks on her arms, intricate patterns of leaves and vines and writing that ran all the way from her fingertips to her elbows, wine dark against her coppery skin. Instinctively, he reached out and ran a finger along her arm, following the pattern up from her wrist. She gasped, drawing her arm away, and, when she spoke, her voice was soft, almost nervous.

"Do you...like it?"

"Yes, it's...nice. What is it?"

"_Hina_. It is a plant that makes a red dye and it stains the skin red as well. It is a tradition to use it at weddings."

"Why?"

Will watched as Djaq stared intently at the designs on the palm of her hand. She hesitated for a moment, and then gave him a smile so shy it surprised him. "I am not sure. Probably because it looks nice. I think it is meant to be a present for a woman's husband."

Will nodded, and then suddenly remembered why he had come to see Djaq in the first place.

"I almost forgot." He fished a velvet pouch out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What is it?"

"It's...um, well, I just thought...I never asked you properly."

Djaq looked confused for a moment, but then she smiled in understanding. "So this is a present...to make up for that?"

"Yes. Something like that."

She examined the pouch closely, hefting it and turning it over in her hands. "I wonder what it is."

"You can find out sooner if you just open it."

She glared at him, but then she smiled and slid something out of the pouch. It was a carved wooden box. She traced the carvings with a finger and then looked up at Will in awe. "It is lovely, Will. Really."

"Look inside."

She grinned at him and gently pried off the cover of the box. Inside was something she had clearly not expected, delicate and precious and framed in silvery metal.

"My lens?" She took his hand and squeezed it gently. "This is..." Her voice trailed off as she ran a finger around the rim.

"You left yours at the camp, remember? I just thought you'd want another one."

Djaq said nothing for a very long time, making Will worry. After a while, she set the lens back carefully in its box and turned to face Will.

"Thank you." Her gaze was more intense than he had ever seen before. "And not just for the lens, Will." She raised a hand to his cheek. "Thank you for staying, for giving up England for me."

He drew closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and meeting her frank gaze with one of his own. "I didn't do that for you. That was all for me."

He wanted to say more, but the words flew out of his mind when he felt the warm press of Djaq's lips against his own. It was hardly the first time she had kissed him, so after a moment's hesitation, he returned the gesture. But when he tried to pull away, she drew him back and kissed him again. Amused and delighted, Will let this go on for a while, and it was not until he felt Djaq's fingers scrabbling wildly at his throat, tying to undo the ties of his shirt, that her real intent became clear to him.

He pushed her away gently, even as she struggled to close the gap between them. "Djaq, stop. Djaq!"

"What? Why?"

"Well, someone might see."

She groaned and rolled her eyes in response.

"And this floor is very cold...and very hard."

She looked puzzled for a moment, but finally let him go and leaned back against the wall. An awkward silence descended on them, and Will cast about for something to say that would make it all better. But, as always, nothing came to him, and he resigned himself to keeping quiet.

Fortunately, Djaq seemed to have a better idea.

"So...how about a little wager?"

"Wager?"

"Yes. First one to my room wins."

Will laughed. "So what do I win?"

"Oh, you will have to race me there to find out."

-000-

_A/N: _Hina_ is the Arabic word for henna, which can be ground into a paste and applied to skin for a temporary tattoo-like effect. It is hugely popular in India, where it is an integral part of a wedding ceremony, and also in the Middle East, where the "henna night" is effectively a bachelorette party._

_I want to take a second to apologize for any details of life in the Middle East that I get wrong. I do some research, but if I can't find what I'm looking for exactly, I either (a) make up stuff or (b) ignore reality in favor of telling a good story, lol!_


	6. Chapter 6: Visits and Secrets

Visits and Secrets

_Bassam's house, Acre_

_May 1194_

Djaq untucked the prayer scarf from behind her ears and folded it neatly, keeping her face turned to the east. The sun had risen a scant hour before, as she began her morning prayers. In the warmth of the early light and in the comfort of the familiar Arabic litany, she had felt the deep peace that had so often eluded her in Sherwood. This, of all things, was the one piece of her old life for which she had yearned for, and here, alone in her rooms in Bassam's house, she had found it. Only now she was not exactly alone.

In the other corner of the room, lying on his stomach and sprawled across most of the bed was Will, fast asleep. She walked over and gently sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. The sun had lightened his hair even as it had darkened his skin, making him look different, even to her. There were other changes in Will as well. In the two months since their wedding, he had acquired just enough Arabic to be able to speak to the servants and the travelers who sometimes came through Bassam's house. On one occasion, he had managed to surprise even Djaq by haggling in his broken Arabic with a cloth merchant in the market. She smiled at the memory, remembering Will's almost boyish happiness at his achievement, and feeling so pleased that he was somehow part of her old life renewed.

She reached out and ran a gentle hand through his hair. He mumbled something incoherent and then turned to face her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"'S morning already?"

She laughed. "Oh yes. It's been morning for hours and hours."

He shielded his eyes and looked in the direction of the window that faced east. "Liar. Sun's too low."

"You are such a...what is the word? A slug!"

He laughed and reached out for her, running his hand up from her hip to her waist, his fingers moving in languid suggestion. She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning into his touch and enjoying the feeling of his warm fingers against the cool silk of her robe. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and into his arms. But instead, she swatted his hand away gently.

"It is time to get up, Will. I have things to do...the pigeons have to be fed, and I have other things to attend to." She got up with some reluctance and made her way to the door, clapping imperiously. An elderly woman was there in an instant, inclining her head in a polite show of respect to Djaq.

"Barkhat. Bring tea."

"Yes." The woman paused, casting a cold glance in Will's direction. "He should not still be here. He should be back in his own rooms."

Djaq sighed. Barkhat had been an old retainer of her own family, and she had somehow found her way to Bassam's house when news of Saffiyah's return had reached her. She was fiercely loyal, but also deeply distrustful of strangers, and especially foreign strangers.

"I know, Barkhat. But it is...not the way in their land."

"This is not their land."

"Just bring the tea."

Will was out of bed by then, half-dressed and regarding Djaq carefully. "She doesn't like me very much, does she?"

"She does not like anyone very much, Will."

"I should be going then..."

Djaq frowned. It had been difficult explaining to Will the Saracen tradition of allowing women to keep to their own rooms after marriage, and she suspected the habit of lingering in her bed every morning was actually his way of getting around it. Part of her, the part that still felt like an English rebel, was pleased by this and wanted to live as Will wished, as they might have lived in the forest. But this was not England, and she felt enough of a debt to Bassam that she was determined to uphold the customs of his house somehow.

She took Will's hand and gave him a reassuring smile. "No. You don't have to go. I do not want you to go...it is just the custom here."

"I know. It's just...strange, that's all."

She shrugged. "I suppose it must seem that way to you, but this is the way things have always been here." She bristled a little. "We do not find our ways so strange."

He laughed, only it was an odd and strangled sound, almost without mirth. "I suppose it's just another thing I have to get used to then."

Djaq sighed. She knew he did not intend it, but it sometimes felt as if Will were testing her. It was almost as if he needed to know that she would choose him over all else in Acre, and she found herself mildly irritated by this.

She let go of his hand. "It does not matter anyhow, because I really do have to go. Bassam will be waiting."

Will's eyes narrowed as he watched her. She could almost see the questions forming in his mind, but today, to her surprise, he chose not to ask them. Instead, he got to his feet and kissed her forehead gently.

"I do understand, you know. I'll go."

She nuzzled his shoulder and then gave him a quick peck. "Thank you." She held him close for a moment longer and then reluctantly let him go.

She watched his back as he left, knowing he would linger outside the door for a few moments before going on his way. She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps and then sank heavily into her chair just as Barkhat returned with the tea.

She took a sip of the bitter brew and let her thoughts wander. She sighed again, this time so audibly that it even got Barkhat's attention.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

"Yes. Just tired."

The train of her thoughts always seemed to lead her back to Will somehow. She was worried for him. As well as he seemed to be adjusting to their new life, she could see how it wore on him sometimes. In England, even as an outlaw, he had a measure of freedom he would never have here, as a rank outsider, an Englishman born to neither wealth nor heritage. In public, he was treated with almost scrupulous politeness, but behind closed doors, they spat the word _al-Franj_ at him and made thinly veiled suggestions of his English treachery. Bassam understood that Will was an easy target, and so he had placed him under all manner of restrictions, and though Will knew this was for his own safety, she could see how he chafed at the restraint, how lost he was now that he could not be his own man.

There were days when Djaq felt much the same way. Here, in her own land, surrounded by all that was familiar and certain, she often felt unaccountably lost and adrift herself, and this was in spite of the freedom allowed to her because of her high birth and her status as Bassam's ward. She was not idle, as Bassam had turned over the fairly large task of managing his household to her. She had plenty to occupy her time and her mind, but there was something missing, that grander sense of purpose that had colored so much of her life before.

It was this loss of purpose, this idea that their lives were meant for no more than just living, that really troubled her, and she suspected this was even more true for Will. In England, he had something to fight for, a cause that gave his life meaning. Without it, he was like a boat that had come free from its moorings, with nobody to steer him straight and nowhere to go. It had dawned on her only recently that he was her charge. She had to help Will find a new purpose here. With that thought had come a different sort of revelation...that somehow his purpose was tied to her own, and this was why Allah had put them together. She had to find Will something to do with his life.

"Barkhat?" The woman was almost instantly by Djaq's side, surprising her. "Do you know where the Lord Nasim's house is?"

Barkhat raised an eyebrow at Djaq, but then promptly lowered her head. "In Garden Street, I think."

"Good. Let us go pay him a visit now."

--000--

_Outside Roncevaux, on the Spain-France border_

March 1216

Daniel leaned against a tree, thankful for its shelter. The shade was welcome after nearly an entire day of walking, but it also hid him just enough that he could keep an eye on Ayesha without her being any the wiser.

He was not certain why he was suddenly so fascinated with her, but he suspected it had something to do with having finally seen her face. In Cordoba, he had asked her to dispense with her veils as a precaution, but when she had actually done it, he had been stunned. He had never seen any woman—save his own mother—without the protection of a veil. The sight of her uncovered face had left him awed and speechless, and indeed they had been almost to Villafranca before he had found his tongue again.

He watched her now as she fed Godfroi's horse some oats out of her hand, speaking to the animal softly in Spanish, her voice soft and lilting. She had fashioned her veils into some sort of headscarf, and a mass of dark curls spilled out and onto her shoulders. Her dress, rich and dark when she had first come to him, was now quite dirty, the hem all ragged from walking long distances on the bare ground. At the spot where she had torn away a long piece of the hem, he could just see a small patch of her ankle, and it left him oddly pleased. But it also disturbed himenough to turn away from the sight.

If there was one thing he did not desire, it was the distraction of a bare ankle or a suddenly revealed face, or even a dark pair of clever eyes. He shook his head, trying to shake off what he had seen, and walked over to her. If he was within speaking distance, it would keep his mind from wandering needlessly.

"You know how to ride?"

She looked up at him, surprised by his sudden proximity. "Yes, of course. My father kept some of the best horses in Al-Andalus." She gave him a sad smile. "But I was not allowed to ride once I became old enough to wear long dresses. It was not considered...seemly."

He nodded, but said no more, so she continued. "This horse, though...it's not one of those sort of horses. It's a war horse. A destrier I think they call it."

He motioned towards Godfroi, who was regaling a group of elderly women with the tales of his last pilgrimage. "You should ask him. He might let you ride it."

She shook her head and then became thoughtful. "He might let me. He's a kindly man."

"He's a fool."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "No. He's not a fool. He sees things. You should be careful around him."

He shrugged to hide his nervousness at her sudden admonition. "I have nothing to be careful about. No money, no reputation."

"You have your life. Is it not worth something to you?"

"You think that old man is a threat to my life?" He tried to keep the derision out of his voice, but failed. "Why should I fear him?"

She gave him a sharp look and then shook her head. "Do you know what place this is?"

He frowned. "Ibañeta. The French call it Roncevaux...after the pass in the mountains."

"Have you never heard of it before?"

"No, I..."

"More than four hundred years ago, the Franks were returning from a battle against the Moors in Spain. They were trapped here and vanquished. Later, they came back with reinforcements and brutally slaughtered all the Moors." She had a faraway look on her face, as if she were remembering something she had learned by rote as a child.

"They chopped the bodies of the enemy into small pieces and flung them in the river, condemning them to hell and damnation. This place...Roncevaux…they celebrate that slaughter. They build churches to commemorate it; they sing songs about it!"

"You have it wrong. The song celebrates a man, a soldier who was betrayed by a kinsman, but fought valiantly for his king before he died."

"I thought you had never heard of this place before."

He gave her a sharp look, irritated by the fact that she had trapped him in a lie. "I remembered it when you told the Saracen version of the story."

"The Saracen version?" She snorted derisively. "Is that not your version as well?"

"What?!"

She reached out and yanked hard at his shirt collar, forcing his shirt open and exposing the tiny tattoo on his chest. It was the number 786, and it would have been more familiar to Ayesha than even the writing of her own name.

"You fool! If you could not hide that you are a Muslim from me, a mere woman, how long will you be able to hide it from Godfroi? From the others?"

"I...I'm not..."

"Save it! You are a man with many secrets, _Spaniard_! A Muslim pretending to be a Christian. On a pilgrimage...in a place where they honor the men who killed Saracens in battle. You need to be careful. Because if you are not, even Allah may not be able to help you!"

--

_**A/N**__: Just a few quick notes. First, the term _al-Franj_ was originally an Arabic corruption of "Franks" who made up the majority of the Crusaders. Ultimately, the word came to denote Crusaders generally. Whether it was ever used as an insult is beyond me, but plausible, IMO. _

_Second, the story Ayesha references is _The Song of Roland_, of course. _

_Finally, the number "786" represents the numerical value of a common Islamic invocation ("In the Name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful"). I've seen many Muslims use it as a sort of lucky number, charm or talisman. I'm not sure I've ever seen it as a tattoo, however._


	7. Chapter 7: Plans

Plans

_A house in Garden Street, Acre_

May 1194

Djaq drummed her fingers impatiently on the arm of the divan she had been ushered into soon after she and Barkhat had arrived. Barkhat had long since disappeared as servants were trained to do, and Djaq found herself waiting alone in Nasim's study.

The room was about the same size as Bassam's study, but far less ornately appointed. A large desk dominated the room and above it hung a tapestry Djaq was certain she had seen somewhere before. On the table before her was a handsomely carved chess set and a stack of ancient books in Latin, but there were no other decorations. The spareness of the room put her mind at ease, because it was a sign that Nasim had not changed much since she had last seen him all those years before. If he was wealthier and more influential now, it was not something he was showing off to the world, and for this, Djaq was unaccountably glad.

Absently, she picked up one of the books and noted the words on the book's spine, but her mind was too preoccupied**,** and the title failed to register. She would have to come up with a way to explain her presence here to Nasim, then later explain everything to Bassam as well.

She flipped the pages of the book idly, thinking it was the sort of thing that someone of a scholarly bent would have enjoyed. Someone like Saffiyah...before she had set books aside for a sword, hacked off her hair and become another person altogether. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest, a lament for the girl that once was and would never be again. Her eyes clouded, and the letters on the page began to fade, even as she tried to fight back the tears.

A gentle clearing of the throat startled her, and she looked up to find Nasim al-Akkari staring down at her, an indulgent smile on his face.

"Saffiyah! What a pleasure it is to see you. And looking so well at that!"

She inclined her head politely. But, before she could speak, he enveloped her in an embrace. Once she recovered, she found herself returning the gesture, thankful for both his warmth and his lack of formality.

"You cannot imagine how pleased I was to hear that you had returned. That you were still..." He let his voice trail off, unwilling to say more, and Djaq nodded in understanding.

"It is good to see you as well, Nasim. I have wanted to pay you a visit for a long time now, but...there has always been something in the way."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and, for just a moment, she saw something flash in his eyes, but it was gone before she could really note it, and his expression was once again as genial as before.

"Ah, yes. I understand congratulations are in order."

"Thank you. I wish you had come."

He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "I would have. But, alas, I was not invited."

Djaq sighed. "Nasim, what has happened between you and Bassam _ammo_? It is unseemly for a son to be so estranged from his father..."

He watched her for a moment and then spoke in a quiet voice. "I cannot say exactly."

"Nasim..."

"Let us not speak of it. Tell me something else...tell me how it is you come to be married to an Englishman." Something about the way he said the words set Djaq on edge, but she smiled politely at him, trying to mask her sudden discomfort.

"There is not much to tell. We were comrades-in-arms first. Then he was my friend, and, later, something more than that. It just...happened."

"I see. No grand love story then? No Qais and Layla?"

"It is grand in its own way. And if I remember the poem correctly, Qais and Layla both died, unwed and unhappy."

"Indeed." He had been standing all this while, but now he took a seat behind his desk and pretended to straighten some papers. "So...what is he...your Englishman?"

Djaq frowned. "I...I don't understand."

"What does he do?"

"Oh. He's a..." She hesitated, trying to figure out how to describe Will in the way that Nasim would find most favorable. "He's a craftsman. A very good one."

Nasim said nothing, merely regarding her from behind long fingers steepled in front of his face. She fidgeted and pressed on. "He's a carpenter. By trade, I mean. But he is capable of doing..."

He did not let her finish before he interrupted her. "A carpenter?!"

Djaq bristled. "Yes, a carpenter. Like the prophet Issa."

He looked at her in surprise, and then he laughed. "Are you seriously comparing your husband to the prophet Issa?"

"No, I just meant that it is not..."

"I am only teasing you, Saffiyah. It is just...I always thought you would marry a scholar of some sort, a clever man."

"Will is very clever."

"Is he?" Nasim's tone was perfectly even, matter-of-fact, but Djaq found herself challenged by it.

"Yes. You should not confuse a lack of learning with a lack of intelligence. That would be a mistake in Will's case."

Nasim raised an eyebrow, apparently not missing the threat in Djaq's words. He locked his gaze on her for a long moment and then shrugged, as if he were conceding her point.

"So, tell me then. To what do I owe the honor of your company today?"

"Ah, yes. I have a small legal matter to discuss with you." As she spoke, she pulled a scroll out of the sleeve of her dress. "I understand that I am a woman of wealth."

Nasim looked thoughtful as he took the scroll from her. "That should not be a surprise to you. You are an al-Halabi and your father's only survivor."

"I was under the impression that our properties here were destroyed, so I had no idea, until I received that a few days ago."

"If I understand this document correctly, your kinsman has informed that you are the owner of…" He tapped the scroll with one finger. "Of much of your family's ancestral wealth. Not here...but in Aleppo." He handed the scroll back to her. "So what is my role in all this?"

"I wish you to draft me a document that will give all this to my husband."

He looked incredulous. "What? No...that is...why would you want such a thing?"

"He has nothing of his own here, save what your father gives him out of kindness."

Nasim regarded her carefully. "And what will your Englishman do with all his newfound wealth?"

"I do not know. Whatever he wishes. He has...ideas."

"Ah." Nasim fiddled idly with some papers on his desk. "I think I understand." He rose from his desk and sat next to her on the divan. "It is not what I would counsel you to do, but I understand."

"Thank you. I've always known you to be a reasonable man."

"Have you now?"

She laughed. "Yes. Or at least you are good at pretending it."

"Saffiyah..." Again, something oddly familiar flashed in his eyes, but she looked away, discomfited, and not wanting to think about what it all meant.

"I should leave now. I've been gone long enough. _Ammo_ will begin to wonder." Djaq got up, gathering up her skirts behind her, as he watched her with a bewildered expression on his face.

She was almost to the door of the study when she remembered something. "Nasim, I do have another small favor to ask."

"Anything."

"Please make sure Will does not hear of this."

He frowned. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "Because he is like all you men. He has his pride."

"Of course." He chuckled as he said it, and Djaq found her earlier discomfort fall away.

"Should I give Bassam _ammo_ your regards?"

"No." He joined her at the door and gently squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you for coming. It was good to see you again."

--000--

_Two weeks later_

Nasim watched from the door of his study as the man called Will Scarlett examined the chess set in front of him. He was not certain what exactly he had expected when he sent Faisal a message to bring the man here, but he was not quite prepared for the lanky young man who now sat in his study, looking surprisingly comfortable in Saracen garb.

He cleared his throat softly to get the man's attention and was rewarded when Will startled and dropped the chess piece he was holding. He replaced it quickly on the board and rose, bowing his head politely. "I'm sorry, my lord. I did not mean to..."

Nasim hid his surprise at the fact that Will had addressed him in Arabic and spoke instead in English.

"No matter. Do you know what that is?"

"It's a game of some sort, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is called _shatranj_. Would you like to play?"

Will frowned. "I'd like to, but I don't know how."

"I could show you."

Will gave him an odd look, but then shrugged and agreed.

Nasim sat in a chair across from Will and began to explain the rules of the game. To his surprise, Will was quick to understand and apparently eager to learn more. Nasim could tell from the way Will observed the board and from the way he spoke little but considered each move carefully that he was a thinking man, and this disturbed him more than he had expected. It was easy to dismiss the English as unlettered brutes, but that was only because none he had met so far had displayed any thought or subtlety. Nasim considered that maybe Saffiyah had been right when she told him not to underestimate this particular Englishman.

"You are enjoying the game?"

"It's a bit like a battle, isn't it? Soldiers and horses and forts and all that."

"Yes, exactly...although I think perhaps this requires more strategy than actual battle."

Will laughed and picked up one of the pieces. "It's really well made. The carvings are perfect."

Nasim allowed himself a small chuckle at this. "Ah, yes. Saffiyah mentioned that you were a craftsman of sorts."

Will smiled. "Carpenter, actually."

Nasim smiled back, finding it odd that Will was so at ease before a complete stranger. _He is trusting, this one. _"Is that what you were in England? A carpenter?"

"Yes. Or I would have been...if things were different."

"If things were different?"

Will looked uncomfortable. "I...I stole some sacks of flour, became outlawed."

Nasim was stunned. "You were...a thief before?"

"Not really. I was just...very poor." He smiled again, although this time, it was a sad and mirthless gesture. "Very hungry, too."

Nasim felt a sudden sympathy for the young Englishman, the feeling as unfamiliar as it was unexpected. He wondered idly if he would have been forced into similar circumstances if he had not been born to wealth and rank. _But Allah puts people in particular places for particular reasons_.

He tried to change the subject. "Faisal tells me you are looking for work."

Will gave him a sharp look and then nodded. "I don't like being...idle. I need to do something."

Nasim nodded. "Are there things other than carpentry you can do?"

"Yes. Anything, really. I just want to do an honest day's work."

"I will see what I can do. Come see me again in a week's time. For now, I think we should finish this game."

"It's your move."

--000--

_A/N: I know that the show makes it seem like chess was already quite well known in England in the 12th century, but I don't think this is historically true. Also, I note that Vaysey and Robin both use the Persian term _shah mat_ for "check mate" meaning the game, if known, is still new enough that English names for moves and pieces are not common, and I suspect Will, given his background, might never have seen a chess board before. _

_Qays and Layla are characters from a classic Arabian love story—sort of a Levantine Romeo and Juliet. In the story, Qays falls in love with Layla, but her father forbids them to marry, and eventually, Qays goes mad in his obsession for her, Layla dies pining for him, and Qays wanders through the desert until he discovers her grave and then dies of sadness. Will and Djaq are, fortunately, not Qays and Layla. ;)_


	8. Chapter 8: Secrets

Secrets

_Outside Acre_

June 1194

Will walked slowly, allowing Nasim to keep pace with him without making it too obvious. He was not entirely sure where they were going. All he had to go on was Faisal's cryptic message that Nasim was taking him to see a wealthy man who was interested in Will's services. But they had come to this small village outside the city in a rather ornate carriage, and Nasim was dressed formally and had brought servants, making Will suspicious about the nature of this trip.

"So I take it I'm not here to see a man about making furniture?"

Nasim laughed. "What gave it away?"

"The carriage." He gave Nasim a smile, but something stirred in the back of his mind, an old memory that suddenly begged for his attention. _No, it couldn't be_.

"Well, it is not as if we could have walked here all the way from Acre."

Will nodded and smiled at Nasim, genuinely pleased for both the man's company and his apparent friendship. Djaq had explained that he was Bassam's son, although she had not given him any details about their estrangement. Will had been surprised at this, because outwardly, there was little resemblance between Nasim and his father. But now that he had spent some time with him, he could see their kinship in the way they spoke, the way they held themselves so upright, with great pride and confidence.

Will found himself squaring his shoulders and walking straighter in Nasim's presence, almost without thinking of it first. He was reminded strangely of Robin, and with that thought came the usual feelings of guilt and loneliness. He shook his head and set those thoughts aside.

Presently, they arrived at a large house that was the biggest Will had ever seen in his entire life. It was not fortified, but there were heavily armed guards at the gates and inside the courtyard. Something about the guards' livery bothered Will, but he could not put a finger on it. At the entrance, a guard politely asked Will to turn over his hatchet and tool belt as they were escorted inside.

They walked down a long and narrow corridor. Will felt the same sort of trepidation and foreboding he would feel walking into Nottingham Castle, but Nasim seemed perfectly comfortable, and the polite nods and bows he received from others made Will curious. Nasim, at least, gave the impression of having been here before, and more than once at that.

Soon enough, Will was ushered into a grand room, a salon of some sort. He took a seat as directed and tried to make himself comfortable, despite his sense of foreboding.

Nasim leaned close and whispered in his ear. "The man we are here to meet is both powerful and influential. He has expectations of how people behave in front of him." Nasim looked him square in the eye.

"I know this is the sort of thing you may not like as an Englishman, but I ask you to be on your best Saracen behavior today. Remain standing in his presence, do not address him directly unless he does so first, and do not ask any questions unless he allows it. Do you understand?"

Will frowned, and then nodded. Nasim seemed satisfied with this and relaxed visibly. He seemed about to launch into far less serious conversation when they heard footsteps in the hallway outside. Nasim immediately stood, pulling Will up with him. "Remember. Best Saracen behavior."

The doors to the room swung open, and,a rustle of fabric and a flourish of weapons later, Will Scarlett found himself standing before Prince Malik al-Ayyubi ibn Shahadi.

--

The prince dismissed his retinue with a wave of his hand and stood before his visitors. Taking his cue from Nasim, Will kept his head bowed and remained silent, but his mind was a whirl of memories and half-formed questions.

"_Ahlan wa sahlan_, Nasim ibn Bassam al-Akkari."

"_Ahlan bik_, ya sayyidi."

Will watched out of the corner of his eye as Nasim and Malik exchanged formal pleasantries, and things began to slowly come together in his mind. The carriage that had brought them here had been familiar, only because it was almost exactly like the one Malik had brought to England...and Malik's guards wore the same colors that Malik himself had worn before. Of course, it was all starting to make sense...

A regal and impossibly soothing voice cut into Will's thoughts.

"And my greetings to you as well, Englishman."

Will looked up, startled, and then,realizing his mistake, bowed his head again and answered in the best Arabic he could muster.

Malik chuckled in response. "Come now. Perhaps we can dispense with all these formalities and talk. As one man to another."

Will chanced a glance at the prince and relaxed when he saw Malik casually taking a seat in a chair not far from where they stood. Next to him, Will saw Nasim relax his own posture and take a seat, gesturing for Will to do the same.

Malik spoke to him directly, in the perfect if slightly accented English Will remembered from their previous encounter. "You are the one they call al-Ahmar then?"

Will frowned, not sure how to respond. "Yes. That is what I am called here."

"How does an Englishman come to have an Arab name?"

"It was given to me when I married. By my wife's family."

"You are married to a Saracen?"

Nasim interrupted just as Will was about to answer, and Will thought he caught a slight look of annoyance on the prince's face. What followed was a short exchange in Arabic that Will could not quite follow, although he thought he heard Djaq's name mentioned. When it was over, Malik smiled politely at Will.

"My congratulations. You have married well indeed."

"Thank you."

"So, tell me. What is your true name, al-Ahmar?"

"Scarlett. Will Scarlett."

"I do not know the name, but you look familiar somehow." Malik appeared thoughtful for a moment. "Have we met before?"

Nasim chuckled. "I hardly think you..."

Will chose to ignore him and spoke directly to Malik instead. "Yes, my lord prince. We have met." He was about to refresh Malik's memory when he suddenly remembered that Malik's peace mission had been a secret, even from Saladin, his own uncle. Will decided it would not do for him to reveal any more and lapsed into silence.

Malik waited for a response. When none came, he sighed in apparent concession. "Never mind. I am sure it will come to me soon enough." He paused, and Will had the impression he was being measured somehow. "Tell me, do you know why you are here today?"

Will shook his head and, on reflection, decided he was not really expected to answer. Malik fixed him with a sharp look and then, abruptly, he rose and walked to a window at the far end of the room, motioning Will to join him. Will gave Nasim a confused look, but the other man merely shrugged his ignorance, and Will found himself walking to the window a moment later.

Malik had pushed aside the heavy drapery and was looking out into his own gardens. It was far greener than any Will had seen in this land yet, and he was reminded of the stories Djaq had told him of desert oases. His thoughts began to wander, thinking of Djaq and how she'd looked that morning, sun-dappled and radiant. He allowed himself a smile at the thought.

Malik gave him a strange look and then spoke quietly. "I do remember where I have seen you before. And I thank you for not mentioning it earlier."

Will inclined his head politely in response. "I wasn't sure how much I could really say."

"Not much at all." He paused, brushing some imagined speck of dirt off the windowsill. "So what has become of Robin Hood then?"

"I don't really know. We didn't go back to England with him, and we haven't had much news since then."

"We?"

Will looked at Malik in surprise. "My wife and I. She was with Robin as well. Don't you remember?"

Malik seemed bewildered, but Will noted a sudden change in his expression as comprehension dawned. "Ah. Yes, I think I remember her now."

He said nothing more for a while, and Will began to fidget as discomfort and uncertainty trickled into his mind. Malik fixed Will with his gaze.

"I should tell you why you are here, I suppose. I am in need of the services of an Englishman." He leaned closer to Will in a conspiratorial way. "An Englishman who can easily slip into and out of the Crusaders' camps."

"I...I don't understand." Will looked away from Malik's intense gaze and focused on his feet, trying to marshal his thoughts. Something about the blue-and-black tile pattern on the floor jogged his memory, and Malik's true intent became apparent. "You want me to spy? On King Richard?"

"Spying is such an...unfortunate word. It implies deceit where there is none. I'm merely asking for your help in my quest."

"What sort of quest?"

Malik did not answer immediately, keeping his eyes trained on the garden outside. Will waited and then, deciding that perhaps his best Saracen behavior was no longer required, he pressed on.

"What sort of quest?"

Malik looked stunned for a moment, but he recovered quickly. Hs face took on that same expression of polite indifference Will had seen so many times before on other Saracen faces, and even on Djaq's face.

"Tell me, Will Scarlett. Do you have children?"

"No, I...we haven't been married very long."

"I have two sons, and I hope they may yet grow and marry and have children of their own. In peace." Malik scuffed the floor with his boot, looking thoughtful. "War makes widows and orphans. It has made a graveyard of these lands. I would that it were all over." Malik turned to face Will, his gaze so intense that Will had to look away. "Will you not help me make peace, Englishman?"

"I..." Will chanced a look back at Malik's face**,** which still bore the same burning expression. Something about Malik's words and the way he spoke them—with strength and great conviction—moved Will and made him want to do whatever was asked of him. He could not find the words to express what he was really feeling, so he simply nodded.

Malik relaxed and clapped Will gently on the shoulder. "Very well. We are...in business, as you English like to say." The prince turned away from the window and began to walk back to his chair, raising his voice so others in the room could now hear.

"There are men among the Crusaders who are sympathetic to our cause...men who want peace as much as I do. Probably not your king himself, but perhaps others around him. I need you to find these men, persuade them to deal with me.

"And if you can persuade them, then perhaps I can use their voice to persuade my uncle, the Sultan, that peace is in all our best interests.

"It will not always be easy...or even safe, Will Scarlett. Do you understand?"

Will nodded. "I'm not new to danger, really."

Malik grinned. "No, I suppose you are not. Nevertheless, for your own safety, I ask that you work with my men." Malik made a signal to a guard at the door. "I have chosen these men because they are loyal to me first, and because they did not object to you.

"Arrangements have been made for them to contact you when you return to Acre. You will know them by the badge they wear. Trust no one else, tell no one else. Am I clear?"

"Yes. Very."

"Good. I am glad we are agreed, Will Scarlett." Malik nodded in Nasim's direction. "You may of course keep Nasim informed of your movements, in whatever way you wish."

Malik rose, his manner suggesting the audience was over. Will wondered idly whether nobles were born knowing how to signal their intentions without actually saying or doing anything. He had noted in Djaq as well, and it had always left him feeling both pleased and bewildered. _Djaq_. The thought of her reminded him suddenly of something he had not considered before.

Malik was almost on his way out of the door when Will spoke. "My lord prince. There is one thing I wish to ask you about."

Malik hissed in irritation but turned to face Will, nodding his head as politely as possible. "Yes, of course."

"There is the small matter of my payment."

"Your pay...what!?"

"My services...I expect to be paid for them."

Beside him, Will felt Nasim stiffen and mutter a warning under his breath. Will ignored him and kept his eyes trained on Malik. The prince wore an expression of anger, and this time, he did not feign any sort of polite indifference.

"We do not take kindly to mercenaries here, Will Scarlett."

"Maybe so. But if you need my help, you don't have much of a choice, do you?"

Malik had the grace to look surprised, and then, for some reason, he laughed. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He scratched thoughtfully at his beard for a moment. "I will have my paymaster come up with an appropriate fee for your services.

"Now, is that all?"

Will nodded and bowed his head. "Yes. Thank you, my lord prince."

"No, Will Scarlett. Thank _you_." Then, with a nod of his head to his guards, Malik was gone, leaving Will alone in the room with Nasim...

...who was apparently none too happy with Will.

"What is wrong with you?"

"What? Nothing...I just..."

"You are a fool, and that was badly done. Asking the prince for money!"

Will sighed. "You know, it's only ever the people who have a lot of money who think so little of it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you can afford to be all honorable about money, but I can't." Will spoke the words easily, but they bothered him. For some reason he could not quite fathom yet, he kept hearing Allan's voice in his head.

"Why do you need money now? You have a comfortable enough life in my father's house, do you not?"

"Malik said this could be dangerous, right?"

"_Prince_ Malik said that you might not be safe, yes."

"If I'm going to get myself killed, it only seems fair that I should get paid."

Nasim made a sound of disgust. "Is that how you Englishmen measure your lives? By its weight in gold?"

Will fixed Nasim with his most intense gaze. "If I die, what happens to Djaq?"

"She...I do not think she is in any danger. My father would look after her."

"And after that? What happens then?"

Nasim looked uncomfortable and then dropped Will's gaze.

"If I go, she'll have nobody to look after her, nothing left. I just want to be sure she'll at least have enough money to live a certain way, the way she's used to. Is that wrong?"

Nasim looked surprised, and then somewhat guilty. He shook his head. "No, not wrong. I misjudged you, and I am sorry for that."

"It doesn't matter, as long as you understand." Will turned and walked out of the room, his mind so full of Djaq and worry for her that he barely noticed Nasim walking up behind him.

"Will."

He startled and turned around.

"I have a small favor to ask of you."

Will gestured for him to continue, a little unsure what Nasim wanted.

"I would ask that you not tell Saffiyah about your plans with Prince Malik."

Will shook his head. "I don't know. I don't like to keep things from her. Why?"

"Because if you tell her, she will pick up a sword and join you."

Will smiled in spite of himself. In his mind, he could see it all very clearly...Djaq standing in a forest clearing with her weapon at the ready and wearing the most ferocious expression on her face.

"And what's wrong with that? She's great with a sword. Better than most men."

Nasim ran a hand nervously through his own hair. "I lost her once...I mean, my family, we lost her once, but Allah saw fit to return her to us. I do not want to put her in any danger again." He put a hand to Will's shoulder. "I think, at least in this, we are of one mind, are we not?"

Will sighed, and the starch went out of him almost instantly. Nasim had said the one thing, the only thing, that would convince him to keep anything secret from Djaq. He could not deny that he would do anything to keep her from danger, even if it meant keeping her in the dark.

"Alright. But if she ever finds out on her own, my life...and yours...they won't be worth anything at all!"

Nasim laughed. "That is true. All the more reason to make sure she never finds out."

--


	9. Chapter 9: We Meet Again

We Meet Again

July 1194

Djaq ran a finger down the long list of figures in the ledger in front of her. The running of Bassam's household was a far more intricate—and expensive—proposition than she had first thought, and keeping up the books was consuming nearly all of her time.

She drained her tea and set the cup down hard on the desk. It made a clattering noise that was not very loud but still managed to startle Will who had been dozing on the low divan nearby. She laughed and received a bemused smirk in response.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

He scrubbed at his face with his hands. "It's alright. I wasn't really asleep. It's just...too hot, I think."

Djaq nodded and watched him carefully, looking for any signs of any sort of desert-borne illness. For one, it was indeed too hot, even more so for a foreigner like Will. For another, she suspected he was working too hard. He was gone for hours at a time, and sometimes even days, and always returned looking tired and on edge. But he had made no complaints, and she chose not to press him.

"Here." She poured more tea into the cup and slid it down to the edge of the desk. "Have some. It will refresh you."

He laughed and shook his head. "No. I don't know how you drink that stuff, actually."

"I drink it because I like it."

"Tastes like medicine."

She chuckled. "It is like what you told me once about the ale in England. An acquired taste."

His face clouded for just an instant, but then he laughed and reached for the cup, screwing up as his face as he sipped the tea. "I think it might take a while for me to acquire it then."

"It is just as well. More for me that way." She craned her neck and put a hand to it, trying to smooth out a crick she had felt earlier. At once, Will stood, uncoiling his long legs and walking over to stand behind her. She leaned back and relaxed as she felt his hands on her shoulders. His fingers were warm, his touch at once soothing and tempting, as he tried to rub the weariness out of her muscles.

"So what's that you're doing?"

"Figures. For Bassam." She looked thoughtful. "You know, I think maybe he is paying some of the city's merchants too much for their goods."

"Hmmm. Are you going to talk to them about it?"

"Maybe. But I think they would not take kindly to a woman making demands of them."

Even though she had her back to him, she could almost see the frown on Will's face.

"I am thinking that perhaps I will write letters. On paper, I do not think it matters that I am a mere woman."

Will said nothing, lapsing into one of his usual silences, so she continued. "What are you planning to do the rest of the day?"

He stiffened and his hands stilled, much to her disappointment. "I have...some things to take care of. But I might wait until later. When it's not so hot out."

"So you have nothing to do for a while yet?"

She felt his gentle laughter before she heard it. He ran his hands down over her forearms. "Not for a long while."

"Good." She laughed and grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling him down to her level to kiss him soundly. Soon enough, tea, ledgers, merchants and tasks were swiftly forgotten.

--

_A week later_

"My lady. There is someone here to see you."

Djaq looked up at the sound of Barkhat's voice whispering in her ear. "Who is it?"

The woman straightened and looked a bit uneasy. "Someone from the oil merchant's."

Djaq nodded. "Good. Show them into the sitting room. I will be there shortly."

"You should cover yourself first."

"What?"

Barkhat made a noise of disdain and pointed at Djaq's neck. "He marks you. As if you were his cattle. You should have a care, wear a veil."

"How dare you?" She lifted a hand defensively to her own neck. "He is my husband...there is no—"

Barkhat crossed her arms and spoke defiantly. "He is not a proper husband!"

"You forget your place!"

"I do not. It is for me to tell you when you—"

"You will not speak to me this way. Go now and arrange refreshments for our guest."

The other woman looked ready to protest, but she hesitated, and then, apparently cowed by Djaq's manner, she relented and bowed her head.

"I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean—"

Djaq sighed, struggling to control her rising anger. "We will speak of this again. But later. Go. I do not wish to see your face just now."

The woman looked frightened for a moment, but then bowed her head again and walked out the door. Djaq leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hands, trying to regain her composure. She pushed Barkhat's words to the back of her mind, banishing the disturbing swirl of emotions they had aroused in the process. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

_Oil merchant...oil merchant? Yusuf something_. She had written him a letter inquiring after his prices, and he must have come to see her in response. This surprised her, partly because she could not believe any merchant in Acre would deal directly with a woman, but more because it defeated the purpose of Djaq writing letters in the first place.

She would never admit it to Bassam, but she rarely left the safe confines of the house, choosing not to mingle in the society that had once been hers. She told herself it was merely to protect Will and their new marriage from scorn, but there was more to it than that. Although she was perfectly at home with her _new_ life in Acre, even with its attendant restrictions and rules, she was not certain she was ready to embrace every aspect of it. The world wanted Saffiyah, but there was no Saffiyah anymore. Whatever she was now, she wanted no part of her old life, nothing that would remind her of what she had once been, all that she had lost.

And now that old life seemed to be reaching for her with a gloved hand, and she recoiled, uncertain and wary. No, this was silly, an indulgence, nothing more. There was work to be done, and she would not shirk it out of mere discomfort. She squared her shoulders and walked out to meet her guest.

Only instead of the expected oil merchant, the guest turned out to be a woman, who lifted her veils and smiled at Djaq in greeting.

Djaq stopped in her tracks and stared at the person before her. "Anissa? But you are...you are supposed to be dead!"

The other woman laughed. "I could say the same about you, Saffiyah!"

--

Will lifted a corner of a bolt of fabric, pretending to admire it while keeping his eyes trained on the man waiting at the end of the street. It was nearly dusk, making it harder to see, especially as this man was clad all in black except for a small armband that marked him as one of Malik's men. He caught Will's eye and gestured in a northerly direction, motioning Will to follow. Will nodded and began to wind his way through the stalls to that end of the street.

Getting away from the house had not been an easy task. Djaq was too busy with other tasks to ask after his every move, but Faisal had been both suspicious and persistent. Will had finally said only that he wished to take a walk by himself for a change, and Faisal had relented, but insisted Will be armed. That had not been a sticking point for Will, and even now, it was only the weight of the hatchet at his belt and the press of the steel dagger in his boot that gave any comfort.

As he followed the other man out of the street and into the city's narrow back alleys, his senses adjusted to the growing darkness. As the smells and noise of the market fell away, Will had the strange sensation of being back in Nottingham somehow, sneaking around in the dark, danger lurking just around the corner. He was frightened, but also exhilarated, his feet moving faster even as his pulse quickened.

For several weeks now, he had exchanged messages with one or more of Malik's men, by an elaborate system of signals that had taken Will and Nasim a few days to figure out. But this time, he was being led somewhere on some sort of task, and the fact that he did not know exactly where he was going or who he was meeting added to his discomfort, but also fed his excitement.

Presently, he caught sight of Malik's man ducking into the entrance of an old house. Within seconds, a light flared inside, and Will could make out the man's shadow, beckoning Will to follow. But when he reached the entrance, there was no sight of the other man. Instead, a veiled woman swept him inside and put a finger to her lips in admonishment. It was eerily quiet inside, the clink of the woman's bangles the only sound Will could make out. She thrust a candle in his direction and pointed to a narrow staircase. Will gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head and pointed him in the direction of the stairs once more.

Will took a deep breath and began climbing, unsure what awaited him at the top. It was a short flight of stairs, and before he had a chance to plan his escape from the place, he found himself standing at the entrance of a small bedroom. An oil lamp came to life at the other corner of the room. Will gasped.

He saw the markings on the man's chest before he saw his face, and there was no mistaking him now. Will tried to speak, but his mind had not yet caught up with the rest of his senses.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

"Harold?"

--


	10. Chapter 10: Auld Lang Syne

Auld Lang Syne

Will watched in confusion as the veiled woman walked slowly about the room, lighting oil lamps as she went. He cleared his throat and wondered whether he should say something.

Instead, it was Harold who beckoned the woman to his side, whispered in her ear and then sent her away with a wave of his hand.

"You're one of Robin Hood's men, aren't you?" Harold scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I think I remember...the one with the axe."

Will nodded dully, still unsure what to say.

"It's not actually Harold, you know. But you can call me whatever you like."

"Well, tell me your name, and I'll call you that."

"George. George of Bristol, or so they tell me."

"They tell you?"

"I...most of my life in England, I don't really remember it properly." He poured wine into a cup and offered it to Will in Saracen fashion, with great ceremony. Will bowed his head and took the cup as formally as it was presented, but he chose not to drink, unsure how much he could trust Harold.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here." Will kept his voice as matter-of-fact as possible.

"No. I know why. Malik sent you."

"So you are Malik's man then."

Harold smirked. "In a way, yes."

"If he has you, then he already has an Englishman. Why does he need me?"

Harold fixed Will with a sharp gaze, and then he turned away, swigging his wine. "I'm not very...reliable. But you knew that already."

"I thought Malik was going to help you?"

"Yes. And he tried. They have good doctors here, people who know amazing things. But they only know how to cure the body." He tapped his forehead, and it made an odd hollow sound that put Will on edge. "They couldn't fix this up here."

"So you still..."

"No. I don't have the turns now. But there are other things." He held his hand up in front of the lamp, and the shadow danced drunkenly on the wall. "My hands shake so much I can't even hold a sword anymore.

"Malik felt sorry for me, so he gave me gold and told me to go back to England." He drained his cup and refilled it. "I spent it all on good Turk wine, and then one night, very drunk, I wound up here."

He pointed at the veiled woman who was now sitting quietly in the doorway of the room. "Rashida found me lying in a ditch outside." He laughed. "She fixed me more than any of Malik's doctors did."

"She's a healer?" Will marveled at this. Was it even possible that there were two Englishmen in Acre, both with Saracen healers for wives?

"No, mate. She's a wh...a lady of the night, if I'm being polite. This is her house, actually."

Will recoiled instantly. "This place...it's a..."

"Not really. Her girls, they live here, but she won't send them out with anyone." Will caught Harold smiling at the woman. "She wants to find them good husbands. She's mad."

Will shifted uncomfortably, not sure what he'd gotten himself into. He cast a glance again at the woman and realized for the first time that she sat in the doorway to prevent his escape. Was he trapped here? His heart began to race again as he considered all the possible ways to extricate himself.

Harold gave him an odd look. "You look like a mouse in a trap."

"Funny you should say that."

"You're not a prisoner here. Malik sent you for a reason." Harold refilled his own goblet and drained it, a far away look on his face. "I can't hold a sword, and I'm no good as a spy. But I have information."

"What sort of information?"

"Malik wants you to win Englishmen over to his side. He wants you to find men who want peace."

Will considered this carefully. The war had been going on a very long time, and surely by now, nearly all of the Crusaders would want an end of some sort. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"You're wrong. It's very hard." He gave Will a long and searching glance. "You think these men are here because they believe in the war? Because they're loyal to the king?"

Harold guffawed and threw his goblet away. It made an ominous sound as it struck the wall, and Will shivered. "They're here because there is a great deal of money to be made in the war. They've gotten rich on the backs of all the dead. And as long as it goes on this way, they'll keep getting richer.

"But that's the knights, the officers. Their squires...now, those are the men that want peace.

"You need to find them. Pour Malik's talk of peace and plenty in their ears, and hope it gets back to their masters.

"It will take time, but soon enough, there will be knights who no longer want this war, and they will begin to speak out against it.

"Ultimately, there will be peace. Or there will be mutiny. Either way, the war will be over."

Harold's voice trailed off, and silence filled the room. Will was not sure what to think, although the idea that he had to talk men into doing something not necessarily in their interests was not comforting. Unsure what to say, he pulled the knife out of his boot so that he could whittle something. Harold and Rashida were both instantly on guard, but relaxed when they saw him take the knife to a piece of wood he found in his pocket.

"I...I just..."

"It's alright." Harold watched him curiously for a moment. "Rashida's armed to the teeth. Just so you know."

Will looked at the woman in surprise and then nodded politely in her direction, noting that her hand was still curled around the hilt of a knife.

"I should have guessed about the knife. My wife carries one in her sleeve as well."

The woman frowned and then spoke rapidly to Harold, who laughed in return. "Rashida wants to know if your wife is Saracen."

Will nodded as Harold and Rashida spoke, increasingly impressed with Harold's command of Arabic. _Maybe he'll teach me_.

"She also wants to know if there are other Englishmen who wish for Saracen wives. Or perhaps you want another wife yourself?"

Will looked at her in shock and then laughed. "I can't speak for any other man, but I don't think my wife would thank me for marrying another woman."

This time, Rashida did not wait for Harold to translate but smiled in Will's direction. She spoke directly to Will, although he could not understand most of what she said.

Harold spoke, his voice now soft, almost wistful. "She says she hopes you will be poor in misfortune and rich in blessing and that you will live to see your children's children. It's an old Saracen tradition."

Will was moved by the words and began to feel a bit guilty for having judged the woman before. He put a hand to his chest and thanked her. She locked eyes with him for a moment, but then dropped her gaze and bowed her head. Harold cleared his throat softly.

"Now, if I were you, I would approach the younger men first. Start with Thomas, here at the camp in Acre. He's the squire to Sir Geoffrey of Kent..."

It was nearly dawn when Harold finished giving Will all the important information. As he took his leave, all the new names and ideas spun around in Will's mind, exciting but also exhausting, and always tinged with just an edge of guilt. He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed when Rashida pressed a leather pouch into his hands. He could feel the hard metal press of coins through the leather, and he looked up at her in question.

She smiled and surprised Will by speaking in passably good English. "Payment. As you asked."

"Thank you."

"Not yet, al-Ahmar. You still have far to go."

--

_Anissa...Anissa!_ Djaq's mind was awhirl. How could she possibly be here? No matter how she turned it over in her mind, she could not quite fathom how this woman was standing before her now.

Anissa and her family had been among the first of the nobles lost to the English, when the Crusaders had besieged the city. Even now, when she allowed herself to reflect on it, Djaq could see the house in her mind, not a building but a raging conflagration. The smoke from it had risen quickly and spread rapidly, carried on a harsh desert wind, its blackness a perfect match for the despair overtaking Acre. At the time, Djaq had mourned the loss of her dearest friend without realizing that Anissa's fate would soon be hers as well. And soon enough, there had been no time to grieve, not for Anissa, not for all the others. There had only been time to run...

Her mind wandered but was brought back to the present by the sound of Anissa's voice.

"Saffiyah, are you alright?"

"Yes, I..." Djaq shook her head and sat down, trying to collect her thoughts. "I wasn't expecting you." She pressed a hand to her forehead, willing herself to think clearly. "They said someone from the oil merchant's was here."

"That would be me. I am the wife of Yusuf, the oil merchant."

"What? But he's—"

"Old? Common?" She gave Djaq a smirk, but her tone was even and friendly. "He is those things. But he is also kind and generous. And I owe him my life, Saffiyah."

"I'm sorry. I did not mean..."

"It is all right. Let us speak of something else. Tell me how it is you are returned from the dead."

Djaq laughed, something about Anissa's demeanor putting her at ease. "It is simple. I did not die." It was not a lie, but neither was it the truth. Because Saffiyah had died and been reborn as Djaq…only that was not exactly right either. She shook her head. "Or perhaps not so simple. I cannot...explain it properly."

Anissa narrowed her eyes and waited, but Djaq could not bring herself to say more. Finally, Anissa, perhaps tiring of the silence, spoke.

"I think, now that I have seen you, there will be time. For you to tell me all this." She reached into the small pouch at her waist and pulled something out of it. Djaq watched as Anissa clasped the thing for a moment and then held it out to her. "I brought you...something."

Djaq reached out and took the object, knowing what it was even before her fingers made contact with the hard embossed leather of the amulet she had once worn. Only this one was not hers...

"How did you find..."

"He gave it to me. He came to see me...before he left to join the Sultan's armies. Before our house burned and…"

Djaq ran her fingers over the pattern on the amulet, thinking of its twin, abandoned and forgotten somewhere in an English forest, the way _her_ twin had been abandoned and forgotten. Only, by some tiny miracle, he was being returned to her, by a woman who was also miraculously being returned to her.

She turned the amulet over in her palm as old emotions warred with new and left her feeling uncomfortable and lost. She thought of her brother, always so caught up with romantic notions of battlefield glory and beautiful maidens. Was it even possible that his eye had somehow fallen on Anissa, sensible and silent and unlike any girl he could have known but one?

"You and Djaq...you were...?"

"No, not really. We had...an understanding. I think he meant for that to be some sort of promise."

Djaq nodded, unsure what to say.

"Saffiyah. Do you think maybe he's still...?"

"No."

"Are you certain? It's possible—"

"No. I saw him, Anissa. I saw him lying in..." She could not finish the thought. The tears she had kept at bay for so long, for years, fell fat and hot onto the amulet. She dropped it as if it stung her and covered her face with her hands, crying in earnest. The tears kept coming, and words, so many words, followed in their wake. "I ran away. From him. From them. From everyone who needed me. I was so sure that if I just ran far enough, it would all stop, it would not be real. Only they kept coming, and I couldn't run fast enough. And..."

"Shh, shh. Stop that now." Anissa knelt in front of Djaq and stroked her hair, making soothing noises until the storm of tears and words passed. Djaq found herself wishing desperately for Will and the solid and silent comfort only he could give her. But he was not here, and in his absence, Anissa would have to do. She returned slowly to herself and embraced Anissa tightly, feeling both relieved and oddly empty. That was when she noticed it, the telltale bump under Anissa's dress she had not seen before.

"Anissa, you're..."

Anissa laughed and trailed her fingers over her belly. "Yes. Only a few more months to go now."

Djaq smiled in return. _Out of death comes life_.

--


	11. Chapter 11: Knowledge

_I have changed the rating of this story, from "T" to "M" to reflect that the story will contain some adult themes and descriptions from now on. This chapter has a slightly M-rated scene in it. Nothing very explicit, but fair warning, if that sort of thing is not your cup of tea._

Knowledge

_Outside Acre_

Early August 1194

Will sat on a pair of stone steps, pulling off his boots and shaking the sand out of them. He had arrived at this place, an inn halfway between Acre and the Crusaders' camp after a long and lonely trudge through the desert, and this was the first moment of real rest he had since leaving Bassam's house.

Absently, he ran a finger over the sole of his boots, worn but well patched to keep out the elements. He had not worn them for months, not since they had first arrived in Acre. But Malik's mission required Will to blend in with English soldiers, none of whom had adopted Saracen garb or habits, so Will had donned his English clothes and his English boots, ignoring the sharp longing that accompanied this act.

Djaq had given him an odd look the first time she had seen him in his old clothes, eyes narrowed in curiosity. But he had brushed off her suspicion by telling her that he was wearing them because they reminded him of England. She had laughed indulgently at him, and, to his relief, there had been no more questions that day. He had calmed his disquiet then by reminding himself that he had not lied to her, not exactly. But a half-truth was no better than a lie, and, in Djaq's mind, it would be just as great a deception.

This time around, there had been no need to tell any lies or even half-truths. Djaq had left Acre three days ago to attend a wedding in a village to the south of the city. She had asked Will to go with her, but there had been a warning in her expression, so he had politely demurred and been rewarded with both her relief and her silent apology. It was odd being in Bassam's house without her, most especially at night, but it had given him the opportunity to get away and come here, in search of his quarry. With luck, his mission would go as planned, and he would be back at the house before Djaq returned the next day.

He pulled on his boots and ducked into the inn, where his feet stopped out of complete surprise. The place was almost exactly like any inn or tavern in England would have been. There were no rushes on the floor, but a fine layer of sand and grit served the same purpose, and it was Saracen wine rather than English ale that flowed freely.

There were men everywhere, in various states of intoxication. A few sported the white tunic and red cross of the Crusaders, but most of the men were far less grand and looked no different than anyone Will might have encountered at any alehouse in Nottinghamshire.

Harold had described Thomas of Kent well enough that Will sensed he would have no trouble finding the man. Indeed, even in a room full of English faces and fair hair, it did not take Will more than a few minutes to find an unusually tall man with bright red hair. It helped that he was lying facedown on the floor, having only just been laid out by a punch to his face by another of the inn's patrons. Thomas's hulking opponent hovered over him for a few moments, a question on his face. Will dropped to his knees and put a hand to the man's neck, relieved to feel the gentle throb of a steady pulse under his fingers.

"He's not dead, if that's what you're worried about."

"'Course 'e's not dead. I barely touched 'im!"

"Right. Well, I've got him now." Will tried to help Thomas sit up and made a dismissive gesture in the other man's direction.

"And 'oo might you be?"

Will narrowed his eyes at the man and spoke, his voice quiet and dangerous. "I'm your worst enemy, if you don't leave right now."

The larger man paled and backed off immediately, leaving Will alone to tend to Thomas, who looked shaken but not much worse.

Will gave the man a hand so he could stand. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Or I will be. Thank you." Thomas stood and dusted himself off, a mostly empty gesture as his clothes were filthy anyhow. "So who is it I'm thanking?"

"A friend." Will held out his hand in greeting, and, after several moments of hesitation, Thomas took it. Will found himself weighing the other man's actions carefully, tabulating each gesture for future reference. So far Thomas had shown himself to be suspicious and not very handy in a fight.

Will clapped the man on the shoulder. "I'll tell you what. Let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me why it is you are in a brawl so far from home."

"I...fine then. Yes."

As he had discovered before from speaking to one or two Englishmen in Acre, it was surprisingly easy to get Thomas to talk, once he was convinced that Will was in fact a friend. It only took a pointed question here and there to direct the conversation the way Will wanted it, and the rest happened on its own. It reminded him keenly of something Allan had once said, about how men always needed to talk, and the trick was only knowing what they wanted to say...

Thomas, it turned out, was the youngest son of a poor village blacksmith. When he was just a young lad, he had been sent into Sir Geoffrey's service, in exchange for half a year's supply of flour and an old plow horse. That had been seven years ago. Five years ago, Sir Geoffrey had pledged himself to the service of God and king, and Thomas had followed.

Will watched the other man as he spoke, the wine having the desired effect of loosening Thomas's tongue. He was not much older than Will himself had been when he had first joined up with Robin. But Thomas had a hardened face and haunted eyes, the twin prizes of a war he was much too young to be involved in.

Will found himself feeling sorry for Thomas even as he considered how lucky he and the others in Robin's gang were, in their own way. It was true that each day could have ended at the gallows as easily as it had ended at the camp, but at least they were home, fighting for those they loved. Thomas's fate had been far worse, so far from England and fighting not for king or country, but in servitude to another man.

"Don't you wish it was all over?"

Thomas frowned. "What was all over?"

"All this. The war..."

"Oh, the war will be over soon enough. The king's already got a leg up on that devil, Saladin, and soon Jerusalem will be ours." Thomas pounded his fist on the table for emphasis, making Will jump. "We'll drive the Saracen bastards away yet, mark my words."

Will recoiled at the spite in Thomas's voice, and then, as he recovered from his initial shock, he felt a growing urge to strike the man for his petty prejudice. But he shoved the feeling away, even as he remembered when another callow youth had felt nothing but fear and suspicion when he chanced on a cart full of Saracen slaves. Will shook his head. No, that was an entire world away; it was before, and he would not dwell on it. There was work to do.

"You're right. It will end soon enough. Whether you're here or not." He refilled Thomas's cup. "You could still go home..."

Thomas spluttered and then wiped his mouth messily with his sleeve. "Whatever for? There's nothing there."

"Isn't there? Your parents, your village."

"I don't care about them. They're the reason I'm even here, in this god-forsaken place."

Will felt his irritation grow, but quelled it. He was almost done here, after all. "Something else, then." Will paused, knowing he was about to strike what was probably the last blow. "A girl."

Thomas startled and then paled and lapsed into silence. Will moved in for the kill, like a hunter closing in on his prey. "What's she like, your girl?"

"She...she's...her name's Joan."

Will smiled, knowing that he had struck a chord, but also to hide his guilt at exploiting a man's weakness for the thing he loved most in the world. _How easy would it be for someone to get to me this way?_

"I'm sure she's waiting for you."

Thomas looked downcast. "She said she would...but—"

"Maybe it's time you went home, then. To Joan."

"I can't just up and leave. Not without my master."

"No, but maybe your master's tired of the war, too."

"I...I don't know."

"You should talk to him about it. I'm sure he has something to go home to as well."

It did not take much longer to convince Thomas to begin talking Sir Geoffrey into returning to England. It was not that Geoffrey could leave without King Richard's permission, but the more his knights began to speak of leaving, the more Richard would see that their hearts were not in it. It would not necessarily bring peace directly, but it would hasten it, and that was almost as good.

Will drained his cup and began to walk away, but a hand on his elbow stopped him. His hand tightened around the handle of his hatchet.

Thomas removed his hand immediately. "I'm sorry...it's just...you never told me who you were."

Will hesitated, but then smiled. "William. I'm William of Blidworth." His mother had been from Blidworth, so it was not exactly a lie, and Will comforted himself with the knowledge that Thomas would never know the difference anyway. In his head, he could hear a laughing voice that sounded remarkably like Allan-a-Dale.

--000--

_Outside Arsuf (south of Acre)_

Djaq stuck her head out of the curtains of the carriage, surveying the road ahead. She had left Acre with Anissa nearly two days ago, and they were almost to the village where Anissa's kinswoman lived.

She had told Bassam they were attending a wedding, knowing he would not have allowed her to travel so far from Acre for no reason other than to get out of the city. A wedding in the family was, however, a different matter, and she had been allowed to go, as long as they traveled by carriage and with armed companions. Anissa's husband had been relieved to know his wife had a sensible traveling companion and had been happy to allow the trip after meeting Djaq a few times.

The only thing that bothered Djaq was that she had to mislead Will in order to make the trip. She had been certain he would insist on coming with her, but he had somehow understood that she did not wish his company on this journey. She had been relieved, but an almost instant feeling of guilt had followed.

She had been deliberately keeping Will at arms' length for the past few weeks, ever since Anissa had first come to visit her. Her mind was a tumult of old memories and new thoughts, and she had not wanted to share any of that with Will. She told herself this was because Will did not know much of her past life, and she did not wish to disturb him, frighten him with all this new knowledge. But she knew it was also because she was not ready to share that part of her with anyone, at least not yet. She could not find a logical reason for this, but sensed that Will would think it was unfair, dishonest somehow, to keep any part of herself from him. But she could not bear to hurt him, so she chose to keep him in the dark instead.

Her thoughts wandered, and it was only a small cloud of dust and sand in her face that brought her back to the present. She whipped the curtains closed and found Anissa laughing at her.

"You see? A veil is useful sometimes. Or you would have had a mouth full of sand!"

Djaq laughed. "The road is horrible, Anissa. Are you sure you'll be alright? I mean, in your condition?"

"I'm not an invalid, Saffiyah, so I'll thank you not to treat me like one." Anissa frowned and looked thoughtful. "Besides, it is not far now. An hour or two."

"To your aunt's house?"

"Er...yes."

Djaq raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever met this aunt? The name is not familiar..."

"No, I'm certain you have not. You do not know all my kin, after all." Djaq nodded, but had an odd feeling that Anissa was keeping something from her. Whatever it was, Anissa was unlikely to reveal it until she was ready, and Djaq was in no hurry to unravel this particular mystery.

Anissa narrowed her eyes and regarded Djaq carefully. After a moment or two, she dropped her gaze and smiled genially. "Here, have some."

"Oh, dates! You remembered how much I like them!" Djaq popped the fruit into her mouth, enjoying its meaty sweetness and remembering how much she had missed this simple pleasure in England. She had tried to get Will to eat dates with her a few times, and she laughed out loud now, remembering his reaction.

"What is so funny?"

"Oh. It's nothing. Just...my...my husband, he doesn't like them. Thinks they look like insects."

Anissa laughed politely and then gave Djaq a curious look. "So, Saffiyah...tell me how it is you come to be married to an Englishman."

Djaq smirked. "I think you, of all people, should not judge me for my marriage."

"I do not judge. I am only curious how you met him."

Djaq considered telling her, but decided against it, not sure how much she wanted Anissa to know. "It is...a long story. Someday I will tell you."

Anissa shrugged, and the two lapsed into silence. The carriage bumped along for a while, and eventually, they arrived at a large house on the outskirts of Arsuf.

In the courtyard, Djaq spied two young girls learning to climb a tree, their torn skirts and skinned knees reminding her sharply of her own childhood. She looked away, unwilling to visit her memories or the endless stream of tears they seemed to bring.

Anissa had walked on ahead, and Djaq could see her speaking to two women at the entrance of the house. These two women were expensively dressed for village women. As Djaq approached, one of the women, older and wearing just a bit too much jewelry, gave Djaq a curious look.

"Welcome, my lady. My name is Rashida, and it is not often we have company such as yours."

Djaq nodded and greeted her politely in turn. The older woman's companion looked highly amused as she waved the guests into the house and showed them to their rooms.

As they walked through the house, Djaq found herself surprised byher surroundings. For a house this far away from the city, the place was marvelous, carefully appointed with furniture and tapestries of the highest quality. Servants bustled in and out of various rooms in the house, and after a few minutes, it became clear that she and Anissa were not Rashida's only guests.

They were given a few hours to wash and rest and ultimately ushered into a room where Rashida was holding court, as a grand feast was served.

"It is almost as if we are truly here for a wedding."

Anissa laughed, and then, just as quickly, her expression changed. "Saffiyah...can I trust you. With a secret?"

Djaq did not hesitate. "Yes, of course. What sort of—?"

They were interrupted by a young woman who put a hand to Djaq's elbow and led the two of them to the large table where Rashida sat. She rose and held her arms out to them in greeting.

"Ah, come, come. My new guests. I trust you are properly rested from your journey?"

"Yes, Rashida _khallah_." Anissa voice was so soft and reverential that Djaq was forced to look at her in surprise. Rashida seemed rather amused by this, but she embraced Anissa warmly, before giving Djaq an expectant look.

Djaq hesitated, pondering the proper thing to say to the woman. Finally, she settled on the only thing that came to her. "I'm sorry. I was not aware that Anissa had any kin so far from the city, or I would certainly have visited before."

Rashida raised an eyebrow at her and then laughed. "I think it is good not to be aware of everything. It is good to be surprised."

Djaq smiled, liking Rashida instantly. "Yes, but not all surprises are good."

"That is true, but not all knowledge is good either."

Djaq bent her head, politely conceding, as was expected of any guest. Beside her, she thought she heard Anissa let out a sigh of relief. Djaq gave her a questioning look, but Anissa wore her usual mask, looking very polite and just a little bored, and Djaq suspected she would get no answers from her, at least not yet.

Rashida motioned her guests into seats near her own, and, as she directed her servants to serve food and drink, Djaq was able to study her more closely. She was older than Djaq had originally thought. With little of the finery she had on before, Rashida seemed matronly and welcoming.

"Anissa tells me you are a healer. Tell me, where did you learn such an art?"

"From my father." Djaq hesitated, unsure how much more she could really share. "He was a physician, and he discovered I had some interest, so he trained me."

"That is good. Too many of my girls have no proper vocation..." Rashida's voice trailed off, but after a moment, she addressed Djaq again, her mien now quite serious. "Do you know why Anissa has brought you here?"

"In truth, no."

"I need your help. There are many here who are injured and infirm, and we have no one with proper healing skills."

"I...yes, of course. I would be glad to help." Across the table, Anissa gave Djaq a smile, as if to reassure her. But there was something odd in her expression, making Djaq uncomfortable.

"I will have one of my girls show you where. Ask them if you need anything." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I do not know how to thank you. Not many would agree to this, you know."

"No, it is my pleasure."

Rashida nodded and signaled to a very well-dressed woman by the door, who politely whisked Djaq and Anissa away to wherever it was they were needed.

--000--

Djaq wiped her hands on her apron and sat down, exhausted. She and Anissa had spent the better part of the last four hours tending to the sick. They were mostly children, some very young and others on the brink of being adults, all somehow victims of the war that raged on around them.

Their ailments were mostly of the simple sort, from skinned knees that needed little more than a cleaning to fevers and stomach ailments caused by the sort of excess that only children were really capable of. There were some whose injuries were more serious, however, and it was to these children that Djaq gave most of her attention.

There was a boy who had lost most of a leg, first to a sword and later to gangrene. There was a little girl with sad eyes who had lost her hearing, or at least pretended as much, and never spoke to anyone. And finally, there was one girl who had been severely beaten and whose wounds would take months more to heal. _And those are just the wounds we can see_. Djaq shivered, considering whatever else could have befallen the girl if Rashida had not found her.

She frowned. It was undoubtedly kind of Rashida to take in these children, but Djaq began to wonder about their circumstances...how they had been brought here, how they were being kept here. There was something more going on that she could not quite figure out. The thought gnawed at her and refused to go away until she gave it more attention.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Anissa sitting at a window and fanning herself, far more tired than Djaq was. When Anissa noted Djaq watching her, she smiled and beckoned her over.

"Are you alright, Anissa?"

"I am fine. It's just too hot. Especially for me."

"So this place...it is an orphanage?"

Anissa frowned. "The children are mostly orphans, yes."

Anissa was being evasive in a way that would have amused Djaq on any other day, but only served to increase her discomfort now.

"What happens to them? I mean, after here."

Anissa shrugged. "Different things. The boys learn a trade, I suppose. The lucky ones, anyway."

"And the girls?"

Anissa gave her a sharp look. "Are you really so innocent, Saffiyah?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Rashida tries to find husbands for the girls. And if she cannot, she puts them to work."

"What sort of..." Djaq's words died away as realization dawned...the opulence of the house, the wealth and age of its owner, all the people coming and going, Anissa's taunt about her innocence...

"This place...Anissa, it's a brothel! And your aunt, she's—"

Anissa laughed without mirth, her eyes harder than Djaq had ever seen them. "A whore? Yes, she is. Only she is not my aunt." She narrowed her eyes at Djaq. "And you should not be so quick to judge. You do not know everything that has happened here."

Djaq felt an edge of anger, oddly tinged with shame. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you were needed." Anissa paused, looking out the window. A sudden breeze caught her veil and pushed it off her face for a moment, and Djaq could see her straining to keep her composure. "And because you needed to see."

She turned on Djaq suddenly, her voice low and dangerous. "I do not know what happened to you before, but this..." Her voice trailed away, and when she spoke again, there was a catch in it. "This place...this brothel is what happened to me."

Djaq opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not come. Anissa's expression softened.

"Do you know why I didn't die that day? When our house was burned to the ground, and my parents and my sisters were killed?

"Because I was not even there. I had gone off to the hill behind our house to look at the stars. The stars, Saffiyah!" She spat out the words, every syllable filled with bitter regret.

"And when I came back, the house was ablaze, and there were _al-Franj_ everywhere. They took everything of value, Saffiyah. Everything. Even me."

Djaq cringed, not wanting to hear any more of this. "Anissa, you do not have to tell me."

Her words were ignored. "And when they were done with me, I thought they would kill me, and I longed for that death. But they just left me there." She laughed again, in an odd and strangled way. "Maybe they thought I was already dead.

"That was when Rashida found me. She took me to her house in the city, and kept me there.

"I hated her utterly then. I kept thinking that if she had just left me, Allah in His mercy would have taken me and it would all be over.

"But Rashida did not want me to die, so she took care of me. And now I try to take care of her." She looked carefully at Djaq. "Do you hate me now, Saffiyah? This fallen creature that was once your friend?"

"No, I..."

Djaq closed her eyes, and her mind filled with visions she had kept at bay for so long...of her father and brother dying while she looked on helplessly, of strands of her hair falling in thick clumps to the floor. There was the long march across a vast expanse of empty desert, her capture by those vile men, the miasma of the slave galley, punctuated by the twin stench of sick and death...

Her mind shrank away from the rest, even as her stomach heaved. _No more, no more_. She ran out of the room and out of the house and into the street, where she fell to her knees and collapsed under the weight of her own life.

--000--

Will's skin crawled. Halfway to Bassam's house, he had felt a sudden urge to rip off his clothing and douse himself in a pond, if only to wash off the day's filth.

But it was not the just the sand and dirt of his travels that he wanted to be rid of, it was everything. He had spent far too much time in the inn, and the petty prejudices of small, narrow-minded men clung to him like the stench of old wine.

He had spoken to other men over the course of the day. Some, like Thomas, were easy to persuade, their too-young minds still unsullied by war and aching to go home. He found himself caring for these men, wishing them well, hoping their women and their meager lands were still there for them when they returned.

But there had been other men at the inn too, hardened by injustice and war and unmoved by thoughts of home and family. All their grievances, every hatred, small or large, had been condensed into a singular loathing of Saladin and every other Saracen. In Will's mind, they had become beyond reason, and no amount of persuasion was going to convince them that the war should end, except with a final and unequivocal victory for King Richard and all Christendom.

Will recoiled at the thought of these men, so infected with superstition that they could not see the Saracens were only men fighting for a king, as they themselves were. He was indignant on Djaq's behalf and on behalf of all the good people he had met in these lands...and yet...

And yet, for every Saracen who treated well with him here, there were ten who would curse at Will as he walked by, his pale skin and light eyes enough to mark him as an enemy. They were hardly better than their English opponents and just as driven by petty prejudice and superstition.

He shook his head. It was all horribly wrong, and what he was doing was wrong, too. On the word of one Saracen, he was betraying his own countrymen, perhaps even his own king, and he could not stop what he had started. It mattered only a little that he did it all in the aid of peace. A good end did not make truth of a lie; it did not make a traitor into a good man. _A good man...Allan_.

Will balked. Was this what Allan had felt when he had betrayed the gang to Gisborne? Had he lain awake every night, tormented by his own actions, as Will did? Did he wish that he could unburden himself to someone, anyone, just so that he wouldn't have to be alone with all this?

He cursed himself and the world around him, for blurring the line between right and wrong and truth and lies so much that even he could not tell the difference between them.

He was nearly to the gates of Bassam's house now, and it struck him suddenly that this was the only place where everything was right with the world. Beyond those doors was Djaq, and surely in her arms, he would find the truth.

--000--

Djaq leaned back against the wall and dried her tears one last time. When she had come to, Anissa had sent her back home, an unspoken question on her face as she bid Djaq farewell. For her part, Djaq had not been able to speak all the words that were crowding her mind, and, ultimately, as the carriage made its way back to the city, she found she was glad of the solitude.

She had tried to collect her thoughts, but they remained dull and scattered, like so many pigeon feathers cast on to a desert wind. Eventually, she had simply given up trying to think, and let her mind wander for the next few hours. It had left her feeling strangely calm, bereft of the raw anger and confusion she had felt earlier.

All that was left was a desperate urge to see Will, to tell him everything. But when she arrived at the house, he was nowhere to be found. She had run into his rooms only to find them empty, and this had brought a fresh round of tears. She had sobbed inconsolably for a long time, and it was only the sight of the rising sun outside his window that finally calmed her.

She was tired now and far beyond caring where she was anymore. She let sleep claim her, her dreams filled with visions of a desert that inexplicably turned into a bright green English forest. Tall green men shot deadly arrows from their Saracen bows as they chased her through the forest, and she ran and ran until she came to an oasis where a desert spirit with green eyes held out his hand and whisked her away to safety.

She startled awake, a tiny draft from the door and the tangy smell of metal and wood breaking up her dream. Will stood in the doorway, watching her in surprise.

"Djaq? What are you doing here?"

She smiled sleepily at him. "Waiting for you."

"I didn't know you were back." He crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of her, cupping her cheek. "You're...you're crying! What happened?"

"No, not crying. Not anymore." She scrubbed at her eyes to make certain there were no telltale tears. "It's nothing. I just needed to talk to you."

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "About what?"

"I...I don't know. It does not matter now." She gave up any attempt to speak and simply fell into his arms.

He held her close for a moment and then pulled away a little, eyes searching her face. "Djaq, are you..."

She did not let him finish, pulling him down to her and kissing him roughly. He hesitated for just a moment and then returned her kiss with fervor, his tongue tangling with hers and his teeth bruising her lips as he backed her into the wall.

They shed their clothes quickly, wanton limbs taking the place of coarse, unwanted fabric. She clutched at him, desperate to get closer, even as his craftsman's hands traveled the length of her body, practicing a wholly different sort of art.

His mouth was like a furnace against her skin, its blistering heat burning away the cold darkness in her mind. She gave herself over to him; the touch of his calloused fingers making her writhe against him, a silent plea. _More...closer_.

He spoke words in her ear that made no sense at all, and she answered with whispers of his name, over and over. She clawed at him, scoring his shoulders and his back, not caring at her own roughness. He was too far gone to notice, reduced to nothing but heat and want as they moved together.

Her cries were sharp, his mere growls against her mouth as they neared the brink, that place of complete and perfect knowledge beyond which there was only oblivion.

"Will...promise me." His gaze was fixed to hers, even as the wave of their release crested and broke over them.

"I promise."

--000—

_A/N: Blidworth, the town Will uses for his alias, is an actual place in Nottinghamshire, and the final resting place of the "real" Will Scarlett. I couldn't resist slipping something from the Robin Hood legends into this story. :)_


	12. Chapter 12: Souls

11. Souls

_Outside the King's Camp, Acre_

Early October, 1194

The king's camp outside Acre was an utter mess, a rude mix of noises and sounds such as Will had never experienced before. It was like Nottingham on a market day, only the voices here spoke not merely English, but also Norman, Saracen, and a half-dozen other languages Will did not recognize.

Will was nervous. He did not like visiting the Crusaders for any reason, but since he had begun this mission with Malik, he liked it even less. There was the lingering feeling of treachery that gnawed at him and left him sleepless at night. But more than that, there was a real danger that he would be recognized here. The irony that he was now in more danger from his own kind than from the Saracens was not lost on him either.

But this was not his only source of discomfort. He had been to the Crusaders' campsite many times before, but he could not remember it ever being this busy. Something was afoot, something important, and this left Will edgy and suspicious.

There were people everywhere, from nearly every part of Christendom and of every known trade. Cooks, craftsmen, soldiers and even whores milled about, shoving and shouting at each other. Will scanned the crowd, trying to pick out a face he knew. There were a few among the Crusaders who looked vaguely familiar. He tried to match names to faces, so he could call out to them.

Lost in thought, he began to walk towards the center of the camp when he felt a tug at his tunic. An elderly Saracen man regarded him crossly. Will worried that he had somehow offended the man and hurried to apologize in his broken Arabic.

"Sorry. I did not see you."

The man smirked. "I do not butcher your tongue. You should not butcher mine."

"You speak English!"

"As do you." The man looked Will over. "You are not a soldier. What are you doing here?"

"How do you know I'm not a soldier?"

"It is in your eyes. A man may tell a thousand lies with his mouth, but he always tells the truth with his eyes."

"And what do your eyes say?"

"That I am a very old man. Can you not see that for yourself?"

Will laughed. "Yes. But I see that you are a wise man as well."

"And you have need of my wisdom?"

"Perhaps."

"Are you lost?"

"No. I know where I am."

"Do you now?" He gave Will another careful appraisal. "Yes, I think you do. That is interesting."

"I'm not much for riddles."

"That is good, because I have not given you any."

Will motioned at the crowd. "What's going on here?"

"Have you not heard? Your king may yet leave Acre."

"What?"

"Yes. He hears the Sultan is moving east, so he wishes to meet him in battle."

Will sighed. What good were all his actions if peace seemed no nearer than it had been a few months before when he had began this? All his stealth, all the lies he had told, would it all come to naught in the end?

"You are not happy with your king." It was not a question, and Will could do no more than shake his head sadly.

"I want it all to be over."

"It will be. One day. But the time is not yet come."

He regarded Will seriously for a moment. "And your work is not yet done."

"What...how do you..."

"There is someone here from whom you are unfortunately parted. Go to her. And there you will find your heart."

"I...I don't understand."

"It does not matter. You will, in time, Al-Ahmar."

Will startled. "How do you know my name!?"

"Did you not just say that I am a wise man?"

It dawned on Will that perhaps this man was also a spy, merely playing a part. That would at least explain how he seemed to know so many things he could not otherwise have known.

"Very well, wise man. Do you have any other wisdom for me?"

The man looked surprised, and then he smiled. "You are clever. More than I expected. As for wisdom, I have no more, save this. Do not return to this place again. Be wary. Your friends are not your friends. And your enemies are not your friends either."

Will shivered in spite of himself. It was not that he had underestimated the danger of all this spying business exactly. But he was yet to encounter a true enemy, and the thought of what might lie ahead frightened him.

"But do not be afraid, Al-Ahmar. Some friends may yet be true, and a good man will always find a friend somewhere."

"Who are you? Some sort of soothsayer?"

The man laughed. "No, nothing so grand. I am called Daud, and I am simply an old man who has seen much."

Will put a hand to his heart. "I thank you then, Daud. For your wisdom." He smirked. "Such as it is."

The man inclined his head politely, bade Will farewell and walked away, leaving Will alone with his thoughts, right in the middle of a crowd.

-- 000--

Djaq walked quickly through the narrow alleys of the city, Barkhat huffing and puffing beside her, struggling to keep apace. She was on her way to Rashida's house in the city, and the fact that she would even consider going to such a place had appalled Barkhat.

But that was not the only reason for the old servant's sour mood. Ever since her return from Arsuf, Djaq had taken to sleeping in Will's rooms. It was an arrangement that suited both of them, because Will did not have to leave at the crack of dawn, and Djaq did not have to observe any traditions she did not care for. She always made it a point to return to her own rooms for her morning meal, if only to keep Barkhat happy, but the servant had made her displeasure at the change quite obvious.

Djaq smiled, thinking of the way Will had looked that morning, his hair all askew and his eyes still half-closed with sleep when Faisal had whisked him away for a shave and a wash. When he returned, Djaq had complimented him on having a face as smooth as a baby's bottom, and he had called her a cradle robber and wrestled her back into bed. The rest of the morning had been utterly wonderful, and it had only been Barkhat's insistent knocking on Will's door that had convinced her to leave his arms.

"I do not like where we are going."

"I am a physician, Barkhat. I go where I am needed."

"There are other places where you are needed. Places where there are no fallen women."

"Rashida _khallah_ is a good woman. You should not speak of her so."

"She is a whore."

Djaq sighed. "The lady Anissa likes her. Indeed, she would go with us, were her baby not coming soon."

Barkhat frowned. "That _lady_ abandoned all good sense when she married someone so common. I do not trust her any more."

Djaq stopped and turned to her. "I think you should mind your tongue and remember your place. Come with me in silence or return to the house!"

Barkhat glared at her, but then bowed her head and became quiet. Djaq felt a small twinge of remorse for what she had just said to Barkhat, especially because what the woman said about Anissa was at least technically true. Yusuf, the oil merchant, was common and certainly not the sort of man Anissa would have married. But fate had other ideas, and just as the trials of Djaq's life had led her to Will, so Anissa had been led somehow to Yusuf.

She had not wanted to hear Anissa's tale any more than she had wanted to remember her own. Djaq had been relieved when Anissa did not share any more of what had happened to her. Instead, she had said only that she felt compelled to help Rashida with all the orphans she took in because she owed Rashida a debt. Djaq had been moved enough by this to offer her own services to Rashida. That woman had been delighted, and soon, Anissa and Djaq had begun making weekly trips to Rashida's house. Djaq had grown quite fond of the children she met there, and over time, her respect for Rashida had grown into something like affection.

Rashida's house lay beyond the markets, in the part of the city still controlled by the Crusaders. This was only a minor annoyance most of the time, as the soldiers generally let women and children pass with little trouble. Still, on most days, Djaq could barely contain her irritation at needing the permission of foreigners to move about freely in her own city, and the fact that the soldier who now stood before her was drunk did nothing to improve her mood.

"Let me pass."

"I will. Just tell me where you're going."

"That is none of your concern. Let me pass."

"Oh now. Being mean to me isn't going to get you anywhere. You get more flies with honey, if you know what I mean."

He made a lewd gesture in her direction, and Djaq stiffened. Behind her, she could hear the swish of steel against fabric as Barkhat readied her knife.

"I will tell you this only once. If you know what is good for you, you will let me pass."

"You're a mouthy one. I'll enjoy you indeed."

In only a flash, Barkhat's knife was at the man's throat, and Djaq spoke in her lowest and most dangerous voice.

"How dare you! I am Saffiyah bint Ibrahim Al-Halabi, lady of a most noble and ancient house, and you are _nothing_. You will let me pass!"

--000--

Geoffrey de Mandeville was bored. He had arrived in Acre at King Richard's behest just two weeks before, and already, he was running out of ways to keep himself occupied. He was not much for the usual Crusader pursuits of whoring and gambling. He did not like women of the night enough to chase after them, and he liked his money far too much to be parted from it.

He was very good at many things, but he had been called here because he was extremely good at one particular thing. He was Richard's spymaster. The king had begun to suspect he had a traitor in his camp, someone fomenting dissent among his men, and it was Geoffrey's job to find the spy out.

In the fortnight he had been in the city, he had learned only that the king's suspicions were correct. There was something going on, but he was no closer to knowing the identity of the spy. For the moment, he was resigned to merely spending time among the soldiers to see if they would spill their secrets and lead him to an answer.

The markets were often where the soldiers with the loosest lips gathered, and this place was no different. He could see them lolling about here and there, talking and drinking, and occasionally making fools of themselves.

In fact, out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the form of one such fool being threatened at knifepoint by one Saracen woman as another berated him. Interested and considering that perhaps this would alleviate his boredom, Geoffrey made his way over to them.

"Is there a problem here?"

The Saracen woman with the knife startled and dropped her weapon. The other woman looked at him in shock, but then recovered quickly and regarded him coldly. She was younger and far prettier, if the eyes above the veil were any indication. She then spoke in perfect, if accented, English.

"This man has been exceedingly rude."

Geoffrey nodded politely, finding her voice oddly familiar. "I am sorry, my lady. I'm Sir Geoffrey de Mandeville, and I apologize on this man's behalf."

"He is a drunk. If all your men are like him, you shall lose the war soon enough."

"Perhaps we will. But then again, there are many Saracen drunks as well."

"I doubt it. It is not our way."

"'Did God set grapes a-growing, do you think,

And at the same time make it sin to drink?

Give thanks to Him who foreordained it thus—

Surely He loves to hear the glasses clink!'"

The woman smiled and inclined her head genially. "Well played, good sir. But I think the game is now at an end. Let me pass."

He bowed theatrically and waved the woman and her servant into the street. He watched her carefully as she walked away, skirts trailing behind her. Something about the woman was terribly familiar, as if he had seen her somewhere before. But he could not quite put a finger on it. He sighed and put the information away for later.

He turned on the drunken soldier and cuffed him about the ears. "Haven't they told you? You don't accost the nobles."

"Why not? What difference does it make that they're nobles? They're just stupid Saracen birds, aren't they?"

Geoffrey slapped the back of the man's head and shoved him away. A thought came to him suddenly, an old memory, and he smiled. He knew exactly who the woman was, and he was utterly intrigued. He beckoned the drunken soldier back to him.

"You. Follow her. Find out where she goes and who she sees. Only be quiet about it. And don't get knifed!"

--000--

The day had not gone well for Will. Aside from his strange conversation with the old Saracen, he had managed to speak to only three other men the entire day, and even those conversations had not gone as planned.

The first man was a giant of a man named John. This had made Will laugh even as it brought on a sudden pang for his old life in the forest. This John was one of the camp cooks, and, though he missed England, he made it clear this was the best work he had ever known in his life. He was paid, he was fed, and it was more than he could have expected anywhere else. As far as John was concerned, it was better for the war to go on indefinitely than to end soon and leave him without prospects.

John had given him a pie and a bowl of stew, and Will had thanked him and headed to a quiet corner to eat in peace. That was where he'd seen the second man, the very young squire of a poor knight. He was named Henry and seemed skittish and frightened of everything. But he was almost unnaturally devoted to his master and would hear no words against the war or the king, so Will had simply given up. After a few moments, it became obvious why the lad had come to Will in the first place, and Will happily gave him the remnants of the pie and stew and sent him on his way.

The last man was a novice priest named Odo, a man who had not yet taken the holy vows, but who remained convinced that the Crusade was the greatest cause in all of Christendom. Will tried to argue that God would not be so well pleased with all the blood shed in His name. But Odo could quote chapter and verse from the Bible, and Will knew he did not know enough theology to keep up the argument. He let the man say his piece and then took his leave, politely refusing Odo's offer to have one of the camp's priests take his Confession.

Ultimately, his mind had turned back to what the old Saracen had told him. The reference to someone from whom he was parted could only mean Djaq, because she was the only woman Will knew in all of the Holy Land. And the old man had said he would find his heart, and where could that be except with Djaq? Perhaps it was a warning of some sort. Was Djaq in danger?

The thought made Will shiver. No, Djaq would always be safe here in Acre, for she had no enemies and hardly any friends. Still, perhaps it was time to head back. If nothing else, seeing Djaq and holding her would be the perfect balm for a day of disappointment.

He walked away from the camp, and, as he crested the last hill lying between the camp and the city, the meaning of the old man's words suddenly became clear. A lone English flag, tattered by strong desert winds flew over a barren hillock, standing guard over the one they had all been cruelly parted from.

--000--

At dusk, Djaq and Barkhat decided to make their way back to the city. For all of Barkhat's sourness, she had been an able helper, aiding Djaq in bandaging some of the children's tiny cuts and scrapes and telling ribald stories to some of the older children while Djaq tended to the younger ones. It reminded Djaq of her own childhood, and she felt a sudden and sharp pang in her chest. No, she would not think of that life; she would not think of her family and all the others she had lost.

She had a new family, after all. They were filthy and lawless and so very English, but those men she had lived with in Sherwood Forest were far dearer to her than anyone else, save Will. And even Will would not be hers**,** if it were not for those men in Sherwood, and Robin in particular.

A spark of guilt at having abandoned Robin and his cause began to grow in her chest, but she snuffed it before it became a roaring blaze. She and Will were fated for other things. It was Robin's fate to fight against the Sheriff with full force. She could not think of any man who had ever made greater sacrifices for another, for the wellbeing of his people. Robin Hood, for king and country. It was just as well, because what else did Robin have now? He had lost the one thing that mattered more to him than anything else, and even that had been for king and country.

Marian...

She put a hand to Barkhat's shoulder and pointed eastwards. "I am going that way."

"You cannot. The _al-Franj_ are that way."

"I will not go that far. Just to the hills. There is something I need to do."

"I will not—"

"Barkhat, please. I promise I will be back in a little while. Wait here, if you like."

The woman looked at Djaq skeptically, but then nodded. Djaq suspected Barkhat would simply follow at a distance and gave it up as inevitable.

She walked towards the hills that lay between the city and the Crusaders' camp, remembering the last time she had made this trek. They had all been beside themselves with grief over their fallen friend, but Robin had said nothing, had not shed so much as a tear of grief. She had been worried for him, but she had not understood the true nature of love then. If she had known then what she knew now, she would have understood why he had not wept at the loss of his love. How can anyone weep when the part of the soul that feels, the part that loves, is gone forever?

She climbed up the hill, and the city fell away. She approached Marian's resting place, only to be arrested by the sight of a lanky silhouette she would have known anywhere. Will stood before Marian's grave, head bowed and deep in thought. She walked quietly up to him and stood at his side. He said nothing for a long while, but eventually, he reached out and put his arm around her shoulder.

"And there you will find your heart."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." He pointed at Marian's grave. "She died so there would be peace." His voice was sad, but edged with determination. "I think the war will end one day. It has to. For her sake."

She clasped his hand. "It will. One day."

He twined his fingers through hers and kissed her hand. "For peace."

"For peace."

--000--

_A/N: The verse that Sir Geoffrey recites is, of course, from The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam. I'm not certain that his poetry was popular in its own time, but as he was alive in the early 12th century, I think it's reasonable to assume that educated people would be familiar with it._

Geoffrey de Mandeville is a name from history, but any resemblance to actual historical figures is pure coincidence. I have a fannish reason for using the name which will become obvious soon enough.


	13. Chapter 13: Truth

Truth

_Chalon-sur-Saône, France _

April 1216

"Will they come after her?"

Daniel startled and turned to find a horse**-**borne Godfroi standing behind him with a puzzled look on his face.

Daniel feigned confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

He was rewarded with a smirk from Godfroi, who gestured politely in Ayesha's direction. "It's obvious, you know. She's wealthier than you. Better born than you, too."

"You're so sure of this?" Daniel smiled and then wondered whether Godfroi would even believe the truth if he knew it. After all, scarcely anyone would believe that a wealthy nobleman would leave a life of comfort in the Levant to travel through Europe as a penniless craftsman.

Godfroi snorted in amusement. "I've seen enough in my life to know about these sorts of things." He paused and scratched at his beard in thought. "So…you have eloped, have you not?"

Daniel shifted, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Not exactly, no."

"You have induced a young girl to leave her home and run away with you. In France, and even in Flanders, that is an elopement." Godfroi's voice was suddenly harsh. "If she is important enough, wealthy enough, someone will come looking for her. I want to know if there is any danger to my fellow pilgrims because of you."

"No, nobody is looking for her. There will be no trouble to you on my account. On our account."

Godfroi nodded, although he still looked doubtful. "We pass ten churches a day. Why do you not just wed her? Nobody can do a thing to you then."

Daniel shook his head. "It is not so simple. There are…other things to consider." He bowed his head politely to the older man. "But I thank you for your concern. It is…much appreciated."

Godfroi looked stunned for a moment, but recovered quickly. He returned Daniel's polite nod and turned his horse to the head of the pilgrim train, barking instructions at other travelers as he rode past. Daniel watched him ride away, pondering the conversation they had just had.

If nothing else, Godfroi's words were a reminder to Daniel that he had no idea what to do with Ayesha. He had not accounted for her in any of his ultimate plans, and, not for the first time, he wished she had never come to him. He had his own reasons for abandoning a life of wealth and privilege. He had a quest, a life mission, after all. But Ayesha had left her father's house on nothing more than a whim, and he could not understand why any person of good sense would do such a thing.

He sighed. It had not taken long for him to realize that Ayesha had developed some sort of tender affection for him. Perhaps she fancied herself in love with him, but that was an utterly ridiculous notion. Love was never a word that had held much meaning for him. He loved his mother and his uncle, and perhaps even his horse, but that love was ordinary, a mutual and perfectly predictable affection. Love of the kind that poets wrote about was something else altogether. It made fools out of good men and frivolous, simpering creatures out of good women. Even in the great tales, lovers were usually doomed to a life of unhappiness and madness and sometimes even death. Daniel had little use for such an emotion, so unreliable and dangerous. What use could Ayesha have for love then?

He had certainly given her no reason to think he had any affection for her. Unless…

Daniel frowned. He had befriended her in Córdoba because she was there. She was always there, in Rashid's libraries, or taking notes for her father at one of the building sites. Nobody else ever seemed to notice her, hidden as she was behind twin veils of fabric and books. But her voice, friendly and lilting, made it known she had a keen mind and a sharp wit, and none of the insincere coyness that usually marked her sex. So he had taken to speaking to her, and after a time, he was spending all of his free time with her. She became the only friend he had, the only one who could speak of the things that interested him. And if he sometimes noticed how lovely her eyes were, or the way her veil crinkled when she smiled at him, what of it? These were hardly signs of love! And yet…

These thoughts chased through his head at lightning speed. Eventually, he tired of trying to catch them and pin them down. He leaned against a pillar of an old building and dozed off, worry and fear dissolving as sleep overtook him. It was only the grip of a firm hand on his shoulder that roused him from his slumber. Godfroi was shaking him awake.

"It's nearly sunrise. You need to wake."

Daniel rubbed his eyes and slapped at his own face to make himself wake up. It took a moment for his thoughts to catch up with his body.

"Are we on the move then?"

Godfroi nodded. "Yes. To Dijon." He gestured vaguely at the other pilgrims. "It is the last place of our travels. From there, everyone has to make their own way." He paused, as if waiting for Daniel to speak, but after a moment, he pressed on. "I go north, towards Flanders. Where do you go?"

"Does it matter?"

Godfroi laughed. "I would say no, but the fact that you keep it a secret makes me think it does indeed matter!"

Daniel smiled, allowing that perhaps Ayesha was right about the man. He was clever in his own way. He cast about for some answer that would satisfy Godfroi. "I'm off to the north as well. To Reims."

"Why there?"

He shrugged. "I hear there's work in Reims. For craftsmen. There's a church that burned down a few years ago, and they're rebuilding it now, in the new style."

"Ah, of course. I had heard of this some months back." Godfroi looked thoughtful. "What will she do? Your Maria?"

Daniel shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say, but his discomfort seemed to amuse the other man.

"Never mind, young man. You do not have to tell me. I was young once, and I understand more than you might think!" He tapped his nose meaningfully, amused at his own cleverness. "In Dijon, then."

"Yes, in Dijon."

--000--

_Outside Dijon_

Two days later

"Ayesha, here. Take this." He held out a trencher and the weak potage he had managed to barter off a farmer in the marketplace. Now that the pilgrimage was over and the other travelers had scattered, meals were infrequent, and they ate whenever they could. Godfroi had offered to travel with them as far as Reims, but Daniel had politely refused, not wanting to explain himself every step of the way.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. After a moment's hesitation, she took the trencher and broke off half, shoving the potage and half the bread back at him so quickly he nearly ended up wearing the meal. Ayesha had barely spoken more than two words to him since their argument in Roncevaux. He was somewhat happy for the silence, but her coldness was more troubling than he had expected.

"Are you never going to speak to me again?"

"Thank you for the food."

He nodded. "I would not want you to go hungry."

She glared at him for a moment, but then her expression softened. "I know. I thank you because I know you have little coin for food and travel, and I am only a burden."

"You would be less of a burden if you would speak to me. It would make the journey more pleasant, at any rate."

She shook her head. "I should not have come."

He felt vindicated by this expression of regret, but he could not account for the dull pain it caused in his chest. He turned away and began to eat, and as hunger fell away, so did some of his unease at all these unwanted emotions. Silence fell on them quickly, punctuated only by the occasional sound of his eating knife and the rustle of her skirts.

"Where are we going, Spaniard?"

"Don't call me that."

"I do not know your true name. What else should I call you?"

He turned on her, suddenly angry. "Did you never wonder? Did you never find it odd that a Spaniard could speak your tongue so well? Or know so much of your ways and traditions?"

She looked taken aback for a moment, but then she spoke, her voice low and defiant. "I had no reason to believe you were lying to me. Not then."

"I never lied. Not to Rashid. And certainly not to you."

"You never told anyone the truth. An untold truth is the same as a lie."

"Is that right? And what if the truth was always there, but you could not see it? Is that not what Averroës said? Your ibn Rushd?"

"No. He did not speak in such riddles. He said only that there was one truth, but more than one way to reach it."

"And you chose the simplest way to reach what you thought was the truth, didn't you? All you saw was a pale-skinned man with green eyes, and you assumed he had to be a Spaniard, a Christian. Isn't that right?"

She squared her shoulders, but would not meet his eyes. "It was a reasonable assumption. There are many like you in Al-Andalus."

He made a derisive gesture with his hand. "Oh? Are there many Saracens mistaken for Christians in your father's house?"

"No. But a Moorish man does not think of his whore's religion when he beds her. And he does not know of the pale-skinned green-eyed children she brings into the world either!"

He guffawed. "So I'm the son of a Spanish whore now, am I?"

"No! I did not mean…" She covered her face with her hands and made a sound of exasperation. "You twist my words until there is no sense left in them. It is…not fair."

"This is not a game, Ayesha. This is life. It is always unfair."

"I…" She looked away, twisting the fabric of her dress in her hands, obviously unsure what to say. A tiny bud of remorse began to grow in his mind, and he tried to take the sting out of what he had just said.

"I'm sorry I misled you. It was never my intent." He reached out to take her hand, but then thought better of it, not wanting to alarm her.

"You let us think the worst of you. Why?"

"It was…easier. I did not have to answer any questions about myself." _I would not have known some of the answers anyhow. _"But I will answer yours…if I can."

"Tell me your name."

"You already know it."

She gave him a look of surprise. "The name you gave Godfroi is your true name?"

"Yes. I'm called Daniyal ibn Azm al-Ahmar."

She touched her fingers to her forehead and inclined her head politely, smiling at him. "Well met, Daniyal."

He returned the gesture. "Well met, Ayesha." Her smile had turned into a smirk now, making her look young and impish. He felt again the odd ache in his chest. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

"I am glad to know at least your name. To ask for more would be ungrateful. Tell me more if you wish. But know that I do not ask it."

He nodded, relieved that she was not pressing him, but also feeling a need to tell her things, if only to unburden himself.

"I wish to tell you. So ask me."

"Very well then. Tell me of your home."

He let out the breath he had been holding. He had expected a different question entirely, a probing inquiry into where he was going and why. He laughed in relief, knowing she would find this strange, but for the moment, not caring about that at all.

"I was born in the Levant. In a place called Acre. It is just north of—"

"I know where Acre is. Everyone knows." She gave him a cheeky smile. "Is that where you were, before you came to Cordoba?"

"No. I was born there, but I was raised in Aleppo." He picked up a twig and began to draw in the mud. It was a crude map of what he hoped was a reasonable facsimile of the Levantine coastline. He poked the twig at the map. "This is Acre here. And here, far to the north, is Aleppo." He made a few more scratchings in the mud. "My mother's name is Al-Halabi, and in Aleppo, that name alone is enough to make common folk drop to their knees."

She examined the map with interest, and he suspected she was trying to work out distances in her mind. "How far is to al-Andalus from there?"

"Far. You have to cross an ocean and travel for many weeks over land."

"Why did they send you to Córdoba? Your parents, that is?"

"They didn't. I ran away."

"What? Why?"

He watched her for a moment, debating whether to tell her everything. But he was not yet ready, and he was not sure she would understand.

"Everyone runs away, Ayesha. Everyone."

--000--

_Note: The Arabic name for the city of Aleppo is Halab, hence Djaq's family name._


	14. Chapter 14: Revelation

_Note: By way of warning, this chapter has some content that may be offensive/squicky to some readers. I changed the rating of this story partially to make it clear that there would be concepts here that were not for everyone. There is nothing particularly graphic or adult about the content, but every reader has a different speed on such issues. _

Revelation

_Bassam's house, Acre_

Early November 1194

Footsteps.

Will startled awake, instinct making him reach for his axe even as his brain fought to catch up. As the footsteps drew near and then retreated, he relaxed. It was probably just Faisal lighting lamps and pottering about as he usually did. Next to Will, Djaq stirred and mumbled sleepily against his shoulder.

He calmed her with a gentle hand and a whisper. "Shh. Go back to sleep. It's nothing." She muttered something in response and then nestled closer, lips pressing gently against his collarbone. It was nearly dawn now and in the pale light, he could just make out the beginnings of a bruise on her hip, exactly the size and shape of his hand. He sighed and ran a finger over the spot, trying to soothe away any hurt he might have caused.

He felt her laughing against his shoulder, and after a moment, Djaq lifted her head and gazed at him sleepily. "Have you marked me then?"

Will frowned, and his hand at her hip stilled. "Does it hurt? I'm so sorry. I never..."

She swatted his shoulder. "You are silly. Of course it does not hurt." She shifted a little and kissed his chest. "Besides, I could always get back at you."

He laughed and wound his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer. "Should I be worried?"

"Oh, yes. Very much." Djaq kissed his neck, her mouth hot and wet against his skin. Then, without warning, she bit him, and as he yelped and drew away, she laughed. "See? Now you are marked as I am."

He put a finger to his neck, feigning pain. "I could just say a cat scratched me, you know."

"You do not have a cat. Nobody will believe you. They will know that you spent the entire night in bed with a wicked and wanton woman." She leered at him, and he laughed, finding her utterly adorable and loving her even more for it.

"I'll be the envy of all Acre, then?"

"Perhaps not the entire city."

He laughed, then looked out the window and sighed. "It's morning already."

"Hmm. So it is. What of it?"

Will stiffened, not sure how much to tell her. A now-familiar feeling of guilt began to grow in his chest until it was a pain that pressed hard against his heart and made it difficult to speak. He pulled away from her abruptly. "It's just...I have...some things to take care of."

Djaq raised an eyebrow at him, her expression changing to one of suspicion and wariness. "What sort of things?"

"Just...things. For Nasim."

She watched him with narrowed eyes for just an instant before dropping his gaze. "I see." She propped herself up on elbow and smiled down at him. "Are you making something for him then?"

"Um, yeah. Sort of."

"Well, I hope he's paying you in solid gold if he can tempt you away from here." She shifted just enough that she was lying partly on top of him, her weight keeping him in bed. She ran her hands down from his shoulders to his hips, her fingers lingering on his skin as she waited for an answer.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her fiercely. "You're much better than gold could ever be." He kissed her again, this time more gently. "Maybe I don't have to go just yet."

--000--

Several hours later, Djaq stood demurely at the door to Anissa's house, Barkhat standing behind her cradling a large package. A dour-faced servant opened the door and then bowed Djaq into the house.

The house was massive, the furnishings and decorations so opulent as to be out of place in this part of the city. Djaq stared at a tapestry on the wall, mouth slightly open in awe. Behind her, Barkhat let out a derisive snort.

"Merchants! What is the use of having so much money, if you do not have any taste?"

Djaq made a shushing sound in response, but she had to admit that Barkhat was right. There was something just a bit distasteful about displaying one's wealth so openly. Still, it meant that Anissa had found a husband capable of keeping her in comfort and luxury, and that pleased Djaq. For all her virtues, she did not think Anissa would have survived a life of sleeping on the cold ground in an English forest, where danger lurked behind every tree branch.

Presently, another servant arrived and led Djaq up a narrow flight of stairs and down a long corridor into a large room. The servant ushered Djaq into a large chair and bowed respectfully. After a few minutes, she returned, with Anissa in tow.

"Saffiyah, thank you so much for coming. It is lovely to see you." Anissa beamed, looking happy, if a bit tired. In her arms, she cradled her infant son, so swaddled in blankets that Djaq could only just see the child's face. He looked exactly as most babies did, and Djaq felt the same sense of awe and indifference she usually felt around infants.

"My congratulations, Anissa."

Anissa smiled again and whispered to the baby. "Come, my son. Say hello to your Saffiyah _khallah_." She held the child out to Djaq. "Do you want to hold him?"

Djaq startled and backed away for a moment. Then, realizing this was probably impolite, she smiled instead and politely shook her head. "I...I have no experience with babies. I might drop him!"

Anissa giggled. "Do not be so silly. You will be fine." She thrust the swaddled bundle at Djaq, who took the baby awkwardly and held him for a moment. The child was fast asleep, but this close, he did not seem as nondescript as before. His head was bare, recently shaved, and he had his mother's strong nose and fair coloring. He also smelled wonderful, like lemon and honey and other things that reminded Djaq of her own childhood. She pulled the child closer, marveling at how small he was and yet how every organ and limb were perfectly formed, already in the shape they would bear for the rest of his life. _Allah, what wonders You have wrought!_

"He is lovely, Anissa."

"He is, isn't he? I did not think that I..." Her voice trailed off, and Djaq noted a frown pass over Anissa's face. But it only lasted a moment, and Anissa was all smiles once more. "Never mind. Come, let us sit."

She held her arms out for the child, and Djaq returned him, but felt an odd pang as the warm bundle left her arms. A stray thought began to grow in the back of her mind, but she shoved it aside, not wanting to indulge it just now.

"What have you named him?"

"He is named Azhar, for his grandfather." She smoothed a finger over the baby's head. "You did not come for his _aqiqāh_."

Djaq hesitated. She had been vaguely flattered to be invited to the naming ceremony, but she had a nagging feeling the invitation did not extend to Will. So Djaq had demurred politely, not comfortable with having to hide Will away for the sake of propriety.

"I am sorry, Anissa. I would have come..."

Anissa shook her head. "It does not matter, Saffiyah. You are here now." She looked thoughtful for a moment and then spoke softly. "It is time we looked to the future, I think."

Djaq nodded. "Yes, and I have had my fill of the past now anyhow."

Anissa laughed, and the noise woke the baby who began to cry. Anissa cooed at him and said things Djaq could not understand. But she looked utterly content, and Djaq was entranced by the change.

"You...you are so...happy."

Anissa startled, and then laughed. "It is true. I am happy. More than I have ever been. I did not think I would be, in truth."

"I am glad. Truly."

"Thank you." Anissa gave her a knowing smile. "You will find this sort of happiness yourself soon. It is your turn now."

"I..." Djaq looked away, unsure of what to say, even as the gnawing feeling in her mind returned swiftly.

Anissa beckoned her servant, who took the child away, just as Djaq's eyes fell on the package Barkhat had left by the door.

"I am a poor guest, and an even poorer aunt to your son. I brought him a gift."

"You sent coin for the _aqiqāh_; that is more than enough."

Djaq unwrapped the package slowly, frowning as she did so. The layers of cloth and paper fell away, revealing a large wooden box, its surface carved with intricate patterns of leaves and fruit and even some Arabic lettering. It had taken Will nearly a month to finish it, but the workmanship was truly impressive. She held it in her hands tightly, reluctant to let it go, almost as if it were Will himself, rather than just something he had made.

"Here. It is a gift from both of us, my husband and me."

Anissa took the box from her and gave Djaq a sharp look. She politely exclaimed over it, and then frowned. "Your husband made this?"

"Yes. He is very talented with such things."

Anissa set the box down, running a finger over a long string of leaves on its side. "I think I understand now."

"What?"

"I think I understand why you married him." Anissa inclined her head and smiled. "It is...a rare thing for a man to see so much beauty in something as ordinary as a block of wood, is it not?"

Djaq looked at her in surprise. She had expected Anissa to accept the gift politely, but had not expected her to like it. That she not only appreciated the gift, but also saw something of Will in it startled Djaq, and left her feeling oddly pleased.

A long moment passed before Anissa spoke again. "Thank your husband for me. It is truly a handsome gift."

"Anissa...I...there are so many things I wish I could tell you."

"No, Saffiyah. It is as I said before; it is time for the future. Do not think of those who are gone, think of those who will come. Think of your children."

--000--

Will took out his knife and began to whittle a piece of wood. Thanks to Djaq and her _persuasive_ ways, he had been several hours late for a rendezvous with Harold at Rashida's house. When he had arrived, there had been no sign of Harold or Rashida, and he had resigned himself to simply waiting for them.

Rashida's servant had let him in, and he now sat in one of the large rooms in the back of the house, with only a rather serious-looking boy for company. The lad had said nothing at all when Will arrived, so Will had not bothered to strike up a conversation. He suspected the boy's curiosity would soon overcome any shyness, and it was only a little while later that his suspicions were proven correct.

The boy gestured in his direction and addressed Will in Arabic. "You are _al-Franj_?"

Will answered in the same tongue. "No, I'm not."

"You look like one."

"You look like a Saracen. Does that make you one of the Sultan's men?"

The boy startled, and then realizing he was being mocked, he smiled and sat back on his haunches. "I knew you were not _al-Franj_. Rashida _khallah_ does not like them."

Will laughed. He suspected Rashida liked anyone who paid her well, and their religion or the color of their skin did not much matter to her. In this respect, she was, as far as Will could tell, one of the most honest merchants in all of Acre, but she was still a merchant. Harold once said he thought she kept orphans in her house because she had no children of her own, but Will decided it was more to keep her conscience clean. The children were innocent victims of a war that had made Rashida wealthy in her own way, and surely she would not want their blood on her hands.

The boy watched Will, as wood shavings from his whittling fell onto the floor. "What are you doing?"

"It's...I don't know how you say it in your tongue. I'm just making something."

"What sort of thing?"

"I don't know yet." Will looked down at what he had made so far. It did not look like much of anything, but the wood had begun to take the shape of an animal.

"Show me how you do that."

"I will. But I'm a craftsman**,** and I don't work for free."

The boy frowned. "I don't have any money."

"Well, perhaps we can trade something."

The boy looked despondent now. "I have nothing to give you."

"You do. If I teach you how to do this, you have to teach me something as well."

"What sort of thing can I teach you?"

"You can teach me some of your tongue."

The boy beamed, elated at the prospect of learning something new at almost no cost to himself. "I could tell you a story."

Will laughed. "Yes, that's a good idea."

The boy sat down next to Will, watching in rapt attention as Will carved. "It's some kind of beast, isn't it?"

"Yes." Will turned the piece over in his hand. "I think maybe a horse?"

"No, a camel. Make it a camel."

Will chuckled. If it was a camel, it was going to be a very small one. "Tell me the story then."

"Alright. But you have to listen carefully, and do not ask questions.

"In a place far from here, there was a man called Ali Baba. One day, outside a cave in the forest, he overheard some thieves talking about their treasure."

Will laughed, startling the boy.

"What is so funny?"

"Nothing. But I know a story about thieves in the forest who hide their treasure in caves**,** too."

"Really? Tell me your story instead."

Will pondered for a moment. "Alright. But you will have to help me if I do not know the words.

"In a place far from here, there was a rich man called Robin. He traveled far and wide for many years. Then, when he came home, an evil man had taken all his things and made his people very poor and..." Will hesitated. "What is the word for when people are not happy?"

The boy shrugged. "Sad?"

"Yes, alright. The evil man made all Robin's people very sad and very poor. Robin wanted to help all the sad people. So he went into the forest and began to steal from the rich people who came through the forest."

"He was a thief?" The boy crossed his arms and glared at Will. "I do not like this story."

"It gets better. There is a pretty maiden in it, a Saracen princess."

The boy looked dismayed. "I do not like princesses."

Will laughed. "Fine. Tell me your story. And if I like it, I'll give you this." He waved the wooden camel in the air.

The boy settled down and was about to launch into his story when there was a loud commotion outside the door. Will was immediately on guard, readying the knife to throw at any assailant.

Rashida stormed into the room, looking angry and worried.

"You? What are you doing here?"

"I...I came to see Harold. We were supposed to meet today."

"He is not here. He went south a week ago. I sent a message to you. Did you not receive it?"

"No. I had no idea."

Rashida twisted her skirts in her hands, looking frantic. "You should not be here. There have been men here. Crusaders! Asking all sorts of questions."

Will balked. "Crusaders? They were looking for me?"

"No, not exactly. They were just looking for answers." She sighed. "Look, I did not want Harold to be in danger**,** so I sent him away. You should go away as well. Do not come back here. It is not safe for you here anymore."

"What about my mission?"

"Your mission? You fool! The Sultan and your king will set fire to the world before there will be peace."

Will began to speak, but she cut him off.

"Please. I do not mean to be harsh. What you have done so far is good, and Prince Malik will thank you." She put a hand to his shoulder. "But it is not worth your life. Go now."

Will hesitated. It did not seem right to abandon all his plans when he had come this far, when things finally seemed to be coming together. Was Rashida right? Would there never be peace in this land? He sighed heavily and then nodded.

"Very well, I will go. Thank you. To Harold as well."

She gave him a weak smile. "You are a good man, al-Ahmar. You will find your peace. It will just have to be somewhere else."

Will began to walk away, but felt a tug at his trousers. It was the boy, looking frightened and forlorn. He held out the wooden camel. "You are leaving without this."

Sadness and anger swept over Will. He bit down his emotions and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "No, it's for you. Keep it."

The boy smiled in thanks, and Rashida pressed her hand into Will's. "Thank you."

--000--

It had been a long walk from Anissa's house back to Bassam's place on the outskirts of the city, but Djaq had been glad, because the walk had given her a chance to think, without any distractions save Barkhat's labored shuffle next to her.

But no matter how long she thought on it and no matter how much she turned the problem over in her mind, she could not shake off her disquiet, nor arrive at a proper answer to her question. _Why do I not have a child?_

This thought had bothered her almost since Anissa had first mentioned Djaq's children. It was true that Anissa had said it only as a hope for the future, but something about it disturbed Djaq. Anissa's words had somehow planted themselves in her mind, and now they would not leave no matter how much Djaq attempted to push them out.

Even stranger was the fact that all this was bothering her at all. Until she had seen Anissa with the baby—indeed until she herself had held the baby—Djaq had never given much thought to children. They were merely a vague possibility, a promise of something far in the future. Still...

She sat down on a chair by the window and set her mind to the question at hand. There was no problem in the world that could not be resolved by reason, after all. The mysteries of conception and childbirth were not hidden from her; she knew how women came to be with child. But she and Will had been together constantly since they had first arrived in Acre, since that first coupling, awkward and desperate, on the night of Marian's death. They made love nearly every night, they were young enough, and whatever they lacked in experience, they certainly made up for in enthusiasm. She was doing nothing to prevent it, and yet, in spite of their eagerness for each other, there had not even been so much as an inkling of a child in nearly a year now.

There was always the possibility that something was wrong with one—or even both—of them. She had, after all, spent a good part of her adult life pretending to be a man. She had denied nearly every feminine urge she had ever had, just to carry on the pretense of not being a woman. But merely dressing like a man did not make her a man, as Will had so quickly discovered that first day in the forest. Indeed, even when she had no feminine wiles left, even when being a man had been her only protection against the world, her monthly blood had always threatened to betray her. She had cursed nature and science and even her own body then. But just as the moon waxed and waned every month, so the blood came every month, a constant reminder of her true gender.

_Was there something wrong with Will then?_ Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary. He was certainly eager enough when they were together, and as far as she knew, he always finished as he was meant to. Djaq frowned. It could be that his seed was somehow improper, but she did not know enough about men to judge that matter for herself.

That only left one answer. Some people simply were not blessed with offspring. Djaq shivered at the thought. It would be a cruel joke for fate to play, if she and Will—two who had lost all their loved ones to war and injustice and the privation caused by both—were unable to have a family of their own. But there was no way to know this with any certainty. The only way to find out was to wait, and if in the many long years of their lives, there were no children, that would confirm it. They were barren.

And yet...

Djaq's mind tricked her, conjuring up images of Will playing with the village children in Locksley, of Will painstakingly making tiny**,** wooden Christmas presents for each child. How could such a man not be a father one day? It was impossible and cruel and...

Djaq's head began to ache from the force of her thoughts. It was too early for her to retire, and Will had not yet returned from his errands in the city. She pressed her palm to her forehead, surprised to feel heat coming off her skin.

She called to Barkhat to bring her tea and some herbs for a fever. After several minutes, when there was no answer, Djaq rose and decided to go find the tea herself.

Barkhat kept nearly an apothecary store's worth of herbs in her rooms. One of Djaq's fondest memories of her childhood was learning herb lore from Barkhat. The servant would patiently tell little Saffiyah the name of each herb and what it could be used for. Later, when her father had trained her in medicine, she had added new knowledge to what Barkhat had taught her. That she had not put this knowledge to use until she found herself stranded in an English forest was another of the ironies of her life.

She flipped open the box where Barkhat kept her collection of herbs, a storm of smells assaulting her almost immediately. She took mental note of each herb as she looked for the one she wanted. There was lavender, used to heal cuts and prevent infection; aloe for treating burns and digestive ailments; yarrow to eliminate poisonous humors from the body; clove as an anodyne for pain; aniseed for worms in the stomach; nettle for treating rashes.

In the last slot in the box was something Djaq did not quite recognize. It was a brown powder and smelled vaguely familiar. She licked a tiny bit of the powder off her own fingertip, and with the taste came a memory. _I don't know how you drink that stuff...tastes like medicine. _Of course. This was the thing in her tea every day. She was wondering what it was and examining it more closely when the door swung open and Barkhat walked in.

"My lady?"

"I just wanted some tea." She held out the box to the maid. "What is this one? I do not recognize it."

The maid narrowed her eyes at Djaq. "Myrrh."

_Myrrh?_ It was a bitter herb and only used on the most infirm, to help move their blood to heal them. _Move their blood...move their blood._ It was never given to women because it moved blood out of the womb so that no child would settle. _No, it was not possible!_

Realization flooded through Djaq's mind, and the box of herbs crashed to the ground. "You! You are trying to poison me!"

--000--

_Note: The term _aqiqāh_ refers to an Islamic ceremony performed seven days after a child's birth, when the birth is officially announced to the world, a goat is sacrificed, and the baby's head is shaved (the family gives away silver equivalent in weight to the baby's hair). I think there may be a _circumcision _at this point as well, but I'm not clear on that. _

_I never noticed the similarity of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves to some aspects of the Robin Hood legend until I started working on this story. I think it's amazing how certain fictional tropes are the same across cultures. _


	15. Chapter 15: Confluence

Confluence

Barkhat crossed her arms in defiance and smirked at Djaq. "Poisoned? You should know better than to think of this as poison."

Djaq glared at her, eyes narrowed. Bitterness and rage mingled and coursed through her like a river in spate. Words formed in her mind, jumbled and confused. She balled her hands into fists, trying to make sense out of all this.

"Why...why would you do such a thing?"

Barkhat merely laughed in response, the sound grating on Djaq in a way it never had before.

"You were meant to be loyal. I trusted you...with everything!" Djaq held out her hands in a gesture of despair. "And this, this is how you repay my trust?"

"No, I have done nothing but save you from dishonor...from sullying the name of your family!"

Barkhat moved towards Djaq, anger on her face, and a menace in her step such as Djaq had never seen before. "Your brother, your father...cut down with such cruelty by Englishmen. Yet, you...you break bread with an Englishman, lie with him, call him husband. As if their lives, their sacrifice meant nothing to you at all!"

Djaq fought the urge to back away from the other woman. "How dare you? It is not your place to speak in this way. You will stop this right now!"

"I will do no such thing. You did not see sense on your own; you left me no choice." Barkhat moved even closer to Djaq, an odd expression cracking the wrinkled plain of her face. "I could not keep you from this ridiculous marriage. I could not keep you from his bed. But I could keep you from bearing his child. So I did."

"That was not your right. It is not for you to decide. You have done me a great wrong, and you will pay." In a single, swift moment, Djaq pushed Barkhat hard and pinned her against the wall. She brought her knife to the woman's throat and thought she saw a flash of fear in Barkhat's eyes, but it passed quickly.

Barkhat laughed. "Take my life, if you will. It is worth nothing." Djaq pressed the tip of her blade into Barkhat's skin, but the other woman did not flinch. "It does not matter anyhow. Others may yet succeed where I have failed."

Djaq faltered. A new and dark thought began to grow in her mind, making her knife hand tremble. She forced herself to remain calm and tightened her hold on the knife. "What do you mean? What have you done to him?"

Barkhat smiled, sensing she had won. "I have done nothing. But as Allah is witness between you and me, know that your vile Englishman is not long for this world."

Djaq shoved Barkhat away, and the woman crumpled against the wall, clearly exhausted. But still somehow, she managed a triumphant laugh. Fury and disgust mingled in Djaq's mind, leaving a horrible taste in her mouth. She reached for the knife and brought it once again to Barkhat's throat, fully intending to deal the woman a death blow. But at the last instant, she changed her mind.

"I will not tarnish my blade with the blood of one so vile." Djaq dropped the knife and spat in Barkhat's direction. "Be gone from this place. Do not dare to show your face here, for if you do, not even Allah will be able to save you."

--000--

_Three days later_

Djaq heard a gentle knock at her door and looked up to find Faisal waiting in the corridor outside.

"You asked to see me, _ya _Saffiyah?"

"Yes. It is done then?"

"Yes. Just as you asked."

Djaq nodded and observed him closely, checking for any signs of disapproval. Once she sent Barkhat away, the cold fury and bitter anger she felt had retreated at alarming speed, leaving only remorse and a wistful longing in its wake. She had wanted to make amends somehow, so she sent Faisal to Barkhat's village with coin to give to her kin. It had seemed like a small thing to do in return for the many years Barkhat had served Djaq's family in good faith.

She sighed and Faisal gave her an odd look, before dropping his gaze. He seemed uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as she watched him.

"Forgive me, my lady. Will that be all?"

"You are not curious? About why I sent Barkhat away?"

He shrugged. "She was your servant. It is not my place to question your decision. Although..." His voice trailed off, and he looked mortified, perhaps thinking he had said too much.

"Although?"

He looked up in surprise, but then smirked and continued. "There are perhaps...less complicated ways of dismissing servants than to banish them at the point of a blade."

Djaq hid her own smirk behind her hand and then became serious once more. "There are certain questions I wish to ask you."

He met her gaze evenly. "I know nothing of your servant's perfidy."

"Then you need not be afraid of my questions."

He bowed his head politely. "Indeed."

"I wish to know where it is my husband goes when he is away from the house."

Faisal looked stunned, but only for a moment. "I do not know."

"Is that the truth?"

"I am only a servant. I have no answers because I ask no questions."

Djaq glared at him, but Faisal remained still, an inscrutable expression on his face. She sighed and then adopted a different tack.

"Faisal, I do not order you to tell me. You are Bassam _ammo_'s servant, not mine. But I ask you to tell me what you know. Because I am worried.

"Before I banished her, Barkhat made threats against Will's life." Djaq twisted the fabric of her dress between her fingers, her worry only half-feigned. "I do not know if her words were said out of spite, or whether she was speaking the truth."

She paused for effect. "Will you not tell me what I need to know, so I may be sure my husband is not in danger?"

Faisal frowned, his worry mirroring her own in a way. But he shook his head morosely. "I am sorry, my lady. I do not know enough to help you."

Djaq nodded and then gave him a small, sad smile. "I thank you anyway, Faisal. For your help in other matters."

"My lady." He bowed and began to leave, but then thought better of it. "Perhaps I speak out of turn. But please ask your husband to be careful. The city is a terrible place. And even more so for him."

--000--

_A week later _

Will sat on the floor of one of the back rooms in Rashida's house, waiting for Thomas of Kent. He had received a message three days before asking for a meeting, but saying little else. The spareness of the message had troubled Will more than its actual content. So despite Rashida's warnings, Will had come to the house, partly out of curiosity, but mostly out of concern for Thomas.

There was also the fact that he had simply needed to leave Bassam's house, if only for a few hours. He could not quite put a finger on it, but something was happening, something grave and troubling. Servants milled about the house whispering and then falling suddenly silent when they saw him. Will had not seen Bassam for days, and even Faisal seemed to be avoiding him.

For her part, Djaq, too, had been acting strangely, alternating between keeping him at a distance and fretting and fussing over him as if he were a small child. He had the sense she was keeping something from him, but he had no idea what. He had thought to ask her about it, but it did not seem fair to ask for her secrets when he had so many of his own. Guilt and worry gnawed at him, making it hard to think, to breathe. So when a chance to leave the house had presented itself, he leapt at it and fled into the city.

It had not been easy. For much of the way, he sensed that someone was following him, and it had taken a couple of deft moves and some calculated wrong turns to shake off his pursuer. He still was not sure he had actually lost the tail, but nobody had followed him to Rashida's house, much to his relief.

He cast a glance around the place. It was all new to him, a room he had not been in before. From the furnishings and tapestries, he guessed it was one of the places where Rashida conducted her usual business. The knowledge made Will uncomfortable, and he shifted from side to side and shuffled his feet. But he stopped when he heard a commotion at the door.

An angry Rashida stood at the entrance with Thomas of Kent. Will greeted Rashida formally, but she merely grunted in response as she guided Thomas into the room.

"Your friend here, he attracted far too much attention coming here. On horseback! It is madness that you are even here, al-Ahmar. Did I not tell you, did I not warn you that all this was too dangerous now?"

"I know. But I didn't know where else to go." Will tried to make light of the matter. "Besides, I am capable of defending myself."

Rashida frowned. "For your sake, I hope the truth of that is never tested."

Will bowed his head in agreement and kept his attention on her until she left the room and had moved out of earshot. He motioned to Thomas to sit on the floor.

Thomas spoke haltingly. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have come."

"It doesn't matter. Tell me more about this message you sent."

"It's hot here, isn't it? I mean, it's winter in England. But it's still so hot here." Thomas was skittish, fidgeting constantly, his eyes darting back and forth.

"Yes, very hot." Will fixed Thomas with his gaze, making it clear he had no time to waste on pleasantries. "Why are you here?"

"I..." Thomas looked towards the door and then dropped his voice to a loud whisper. "After that first time I met you, I talked to some other people...told them what you told me, right?

"Well, they started talking to some other people, too. And now there are many of us who want this to be over. So we can go home.

"That's why I came to see you. My master, he got wind of it." Thomas let out a sigh. "I thought I was done for."

Will raised an eyebrow in question. There was something odd about Thomas, something not quite right. It bothered Will and distracted him from Thomas's words, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and forced himself to concentrate.

"Are you in trouble, Thomas? Is that why you came to me?"

"No, that's just it. I thought he'd kill me. You know, for being disloyal. But no! He says it's alright, that he wants to meet you as well."

"What!?"

"I was surprised, too. But my master says he wants to find a way to end the war as well. I think maybe he has a plan for you."

Will stared at Thomas in shock. "That's...I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not? If you tell him what you told me, it will work out. There'll be peace, right?"

"It's not that simple. I just..." Will let his voice trail off, unsure of what to say.

"Please? He's not far away from here. There's an abandoned house on the edge of the city that we use as a camp sometimes."

"He's...here now? He wants to see me now?"

"Yes. You'll come, won't you?"

Will's first instinct was to refuse. Talking to knights, especially those who were close to the king, was not part of the plan. It was dangerous, and worse, he risked being exposed to the king, who would not take kindly to Will's work as a spy.

Still, Thomas was almost begging for his help, and meeting his master would surely advance the cause of peace. Will had not worked so hard and long for naught to come of his labors. He wondered if he should alert Rashida as to where he was going, but after a moment's thought, he decided against it. It was better if fewer people knew he was meeting one of the king's knights.

Will regarded Thomas carefully for a minute. Thomas still looked far more nervous than he needed to be, but there was something truthful and sincere about Thomas that heartened Will. He nodded in the other man's direction and strode towards the door.

"Very well, Thomas. Take me to your master."

--000--

Djaq leaned her arms against the wall, panting heavily and pulling her veils off her face to get more air. She had followed Will out of Bassam's house and towards the city, certain she would eventually catch up to him. But Will moved through the city's back streets and alleys with surprising certainty, and he had eventually given her the slip.

It did not help that Djaq was woefully out of practice in stealth and pursuit. Months of nothing but reading texts and managing Bassam's household had not helped her keep the skills she had honed in the forest. For not the first time, she found herself envying Will the small measure of freedom he enjoyed as a man, even in a place completely foreign to him. He was allowed to go out, explore the city, and be seen in ways that were always barred to her. A tiny kernel of resentment began to take shape in her mind, but she pushed it away as unbecoming of her.

In truth, Djaq knew there was nothing for her to resent. She had chosen to stay behind in Acre knowing full well she would lose some of the freedoms she had enjoyed as an outlaw. It was true Will enjoyed more liberties here than she did, but at the same time, life here was perfectly safe for Djaq in a way that it was not for Will.

She sighed. For Will, every corner of the city was dangerous. Yet, he was venturing out regularly, with little concern for his own safety. She cursed herself for being so preoccupied with other things she had barely noticed Will's frequent absences from the house. She had no doubt that Barkhat's threats were real, but she had no idea what sort of situation Will had gotten himself into, or how she could extricate him from it.

A passerby stopped and goggled at her. She stared the man down and then, realizing her mistake, quickly pushed her veils back into place. The man gave her a smug smile and went on his way. Djaq considered striking him, if only to wipe that smirk off his face, but decided against it. There were more pressing things at hand. She needed to know where exactly in the city she was at this moment.

Even as a child, she had not been allowed to leave home without an escort, and yet she and her brother had found ways to sneak out of the house and into the city's many narrow streets and pathways. There was a time when she had known these places as well as the lines on her own hands, but now, the confused tangle of streets seemed alien to her. Djaq frowned and forced herself to focus.

From where she stood, she could see Citadel in the north and, beyond it, the walls of the city. She guessed she was no more than half a mile from the walls. She turned around and faced south, so that she could see the lighthouse in the harbor far in the distance. That meant she was in the traders' quarter of the city, and the sight of the small houses and the wares being hawked out of streetside stalls confirmed it. She walked east, checking off familiar street names and buildings in her mind, until she arrived at a place she knew very well...Rashida's house.

She laughed. Even if her mind had not been aware of it, her feet had led her unerringly to a most useful place. If there was something worth knowing in Acre, then surely Rashida was the person to know it. She bounded up the steps and, in her excitement, missed the departure of two hooded men through a side door.

--000--

Will listened with amusement as his companion prattled on about life in the king's camp. Thomas seemed far less nervous than he had been at Rashida's house, and this pleased Will even as his worry over meeting Thomas's master increased.

He had convinced Thomas to leave the horse behind, impressing on him it would be too difficult to ride in the city and would attract too much attention. Thomas had been doubtful at first, but at length, he had agreed. They had made fast time through this part of Acre, Thomas expressing surprise at Will's pace and his knowledge of Arabic.

"Where did you learn all that?"

Will hesitated. The less Thomas knew about his real life, the better. "Oh, here and there. I've been here a while now."

"You're not a soldier, though...are you?"

"No. Does it matter?"

Thomas shrugged and then became thoughtful. "I suppose it doesn't really matter. But all the other Englishmen I know are soldiers."

Will nodded. There were only a few Europeans in Acre who were not Crusaders, and even then, they were usually men traveling with the knights and their squires. They were often tradesmen or craftsmen who had been brought from France or Italy for a specific reason years ago and had never left. For many, life in the Holy Land was far better than it was at home. As long as this Crusade lasted, these men would have livelihoods and privilege of a sort they could not have dreamed of in their old lives. Not every man really needed peace, and this thought saddened Will.

Still, at least there were still men like Thomas's master, who were willing to talk about peace. And if there was one knight who was open to the idea, surely there were others as well.

"What is your master like?"

Thomas startled. "He...he's a good man. An honest one." Thomas gave Will a pleading look. "That's how he would want to be remembered."

_Remembered?_ "Thomas, is your master—?"

"No. I spoke out of turn. Don't pay it any mind. Please."

Will gave Thomas a sharp look, willing him to tell the truth. Thomas looked away and then pointed down the street.

"There, see? You can see the house already. It's the tall one."

Will nodded. "Fine, let's go."

As they neared their target, the building Thomas had pointed out resolved itself into a large manor house. It must have belonged to one of the noble families in Acre, but it was severely damaged by fire. The walls were pitted and charred black in places, and there were entire parts of the house that had crumbled and fallen down. It was the perfect place for a secret meeting. Nobody passing the house would suspect anyone was inside.

"Do you know who used to live here?"

Thomas shook his head. "One of the rich Saracens, I reckon." He scratched his head. "It's too bad they fired the place. Might have been a nice place for us all to live."

Will began to wonder if this might have been Djaq's old house. She did not speak of it much, but it was certainly big enough to have belonged to her family, and it was in the right part of the city. He reached out to touch one of the scarred walls, hoping to hear an echo of her old life. He closed his eyes, trying to picture his love as a little girl with long pigtails and scraped knees. But he could not see it. Whatever happiness was in her childhood, it had been erased, taken from her by the cruel hand of war. He felt a sudden rush of anger and punched the wall with his fist. The flash of pain and trickle of blood that followed brought him back to himself.

Thomas looked frightened. "Are you...alright?"

"Yes, I...it's nothing." He wiped his bloody knuckles on the front of his shirt. "Let's go inside."

Thomas led him down a long corridor in the ruined house and into what must have once been a great hall. The place was stifling and dark except for the occasional streak of light from some place where the wall was no longer intact.

"Ah, you're finally here, Thomas." A voice called out to them from the shadows.

"Yes, sir."

"I was beginning to worry." The owner of the voice stepped out into the middle of the room, his face obscured by the hood of his cloak.

Will nudged Thomas and spoke in a whisper. "This is your master?"

Thomas looked away, head bowed, and instead, it was the hooded man who answered. "Alas, that honor is not mine, though Thomas's master and I do share a name." He laughed, and Will felt his flesh rise in goosebumps at the sound. "I'm called Geoffrey de Mandeville."

The man came closer, prompting Will to back away from him.

"And you...you are called Will Scarlett, lately of Robin Hood's gang."

"How did you know—"

His words were interrupted by Geoffrey's laughter. The man doffed his hood, and Will found himself staring into the face of The Fool.

--000--


	16. Chapter 16: Lost

_Note: First, a big thanks to Wenrom31 and rebeldivaluv for all their corrections and comments. This story would be so much worse without them. Second, I'm a bit behind in my writing (a combination of real life stuff and writer's block), so the next update might take a while. My apologies (but thanks for sticking with the story and taking the time to leave comments!)_

Lost

"You...you're the king's fool," Will stammered, his shock making the words stick in his mouth.

Geoffrey gave Will a hard look, no sign of amusement on his face. "You may well call me a fool, but I think you are made more of one just now."

"Why am I brought here?" Will's spoke deliberately, willing his heart to stop pounding so loudly in his chest.

"I will be asking the questions here, Master Scarlett." Geoffrey dragged a chair across the floor and sat down, motioning Will into the opposite seat. "We'll start with just one, shall we?

"How does one of Robin Hood's men come to be a traitor to his own king?"

Will blanched. "I'm not...a traitor."

"Oh? What else do you call it when an Englishman conspires with the Saracens against the King of England?"

Will did not answer, his mind awhirl, as he tried to figure out just how much Geoffrey knew and how much Will could divulge without making his own situation any worse.

Geoffrey made a gesture of impatience. "You're not even going to deny it, are you?"

Will spoke with a steadiness he did not feel. "I don't see why I have to tell you anything."

Geoffrey glared at him, but then abruptly dropped Will's gaze and looked away. He was silent for several moments, and when he turned back to Will, he looked almost apologetic.

"Do you know who I am?" He gave Will a weak smile. "I mean, aside from being The Fool, that is.

"I'm heir to the Earl of Essex." He looked at Will, expecting a reaction, and then sighed in exasperation when he received none. "I'm also King Richard's spymaster. His Grace calls on me when he needs information. Of any kind.

"I have no wife, no children and very few scruples." He smirked. "I am perhaps not the best of men, but I am the perfect spy."

Geoffrey steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Didn't you all ever wonder how a mere jester knew so much about the king's plans...about Lardner?"

Will shrugged. "I was about to hang. I had...other things to worry about."

Geoffrey looked stunned, but then he laughed. "Fair enough." He stood and walked over to Will. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm an important man, and I can help you." He held his hands up, feigning helplessness. "But I can't help you unless you help me...tell me something."

Will kept his silence. He was angry at the veiled threat, but even more at having been so easily cornered.

Geoffrey pressed on. "Tell me the truth. Or tell me what you want me to hear."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

Geoffrey gave Will another smirk then shook his head. "See, this is the problem with you peasants. You're kind and brave, and you have good souls. But you're too simple to know that the truth is almost never useful."

Will bristled but could not think of a good way to counter Geoffrey's words. So he kept his silence and bit down the urge to strike the other man.

Geoffrey watched Will carefully for a moment. "But if the truth matters so much to you, by all means, tell me the truth." He sauntered back to his chair and sat down, gesturing for Will to speak.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why were you working with Malik?"

Will's eyes widened. It was one thing for Thomas to have betrayed him, but he could not imagine how Geoffrey had learned about Will's work for the prince.

"I..." Will hesitated. There was nothing he could tell Geoffrey to convince him that Will was not a traitor, and he had never been very good at spinning a lie out anyway. He had no option but to tell the truth, and he consoled himself that it was better this way.

"Malik said he wanted to bring about peace. That's what I wanted, too."

"I have no doubt that Malik told you the truth. But didn't you ever wonder what was in it for him?"

"No. I thought he wanted the war to be over. That's all."

"I'm sure he does want the war to be over." Geoffrey scratched his chin. "Malik is...a good man. Kind, learned. But he is not a stupid man. And he likes power as much as anyone."

"I wouldn't know about any of that."

"That's just the problem, isn't it?" Geoffrey looked down at his own feet for a minute, scuffing the floor with his boot. "Tell me, Will. Do you play chess?"

Will looked up, surprised at the sudden change in conversation. "No, er, I...I've only played a few times."

"This war is like a game of chess being played by wealthy and very powerful men. They do not play to lose. And in this game, you are but a mere pawn, to be sacrificed as needed."

"I don't think Malik—"

Geoffrey interrupted before Will could even finish. "Malik knows how the game is played. You see...the Saracens may yet win this war, and Malik may get the peace he wants."

Geoffrey got up out of his chair and began to pace the room, obviously enjoying the chance to tell a good story. "But it does not end there. Saladin has not named an heir. It's all a contest that comes down to two men. The first is his brother, a man called Saphadin. He has helped Saladin find support in the provinces, and he's known to be a bit of a warmonger. A long and drawn-out war is to Saphadin's advantage.

"The other man is, strangely enough, Saphadin's son—"

"Malik."

Geoffrey smiled and touched his finger to his nose. "Exactly. Malik hopes to end the war quickly, probably with a treaty that ends up sending all the Crusaders home."

Will nodded, comprehension slowly trickling in. "And if Saladin sees Malik as the one who brokered the peace, he'll reward Malik."

"You catch on quickly."

Will sighed, the weight of his mission suddenly bearing down hard on him. "I was wrong about Malik's motives, but it shouldn't matter. Peace is good, even if it's for the wrong reasons."

"Why did you want it? Peace, that is."

"Because the war needs to be over."

Geoffrey sighed. "What difference does it make to you? You're a peasant. Your life is the same, war or not."

Will glowered at the man. "You're a noble. You don't know anything about a peasant's life." He challenged Geoffrey. "Wasn't there a tithe just to pay for this war?"

"Indeed." Geoffrey inclined his head in polite concession. "But even if there were no more wars, there would still be taxes. It changes nothing." He smiled at Will. "There has to be some other reason..."

Will struggled to find the proper words. How could he explain what he really thought? What was the proper way to tell this man peace brought hope he could live happily with the woman he loved?

"I just want the English and the Saracens to stop fighting. For myself...and for my wife."

Geoffrey looked astonished for a moment, and then he smiled broadly. "Your wife? Well now, that is interesting. Tell me more."

Will hesitated, not wanting to speak of Djaq in such a place. "There is nothing to tell."

Geoffrey stared at Will for a moment, and then his face lit up. "You married Robin Hood's Saracen, didn't you!?"

Will nearly fell out of his chair in surprise. "How did you—?"

Geoffrey laughed. "I should have guessed, really...the eyes the two of you were making at each other in the forest!

"Lovely girl...what was her name?" He made a great show of thinking. "Djaq, wasn't it?"

Will squirmed in discomfort, even as anger threatened to overwhelm him.

Geoffrey seemed to be enjoying it all. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not implying anything...untoward.

"She's the one who gave you away, you know." He paused to allow his gist to sink in. "I saw her here one day. I thought she looked familiar, but she was gone before I could remember.

"But then it came to me, and I thought if one of Robin Hood's gang was here, then surely there were others as well. And really, who else but one of Robin Hood's gang could make their way in and out of the camp with nobody being the wiser?

"That's what led me to you, how I found you out." Geoffrey gave Will a pointed look. "To be fair, I didn't know it would be you." He held his hand out in a gesture of appreciation. "I'm quite impressed, really...that you managed to spy on our camp for so long. And so quietly that not one of us knew who you were.

"I never did guess that William of Blidworth might actually be Will Scarlett. Well done."

He clapped theatrically, and then, abruptly, he stopped. His expression became serious, nearly dour. "Do you know what happens to you now?"

Will shrugged but said nothing.

"You are a traitor to your king. The penalty for such treason is death." Geoffrey motioned for Will to stand.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

It wasn't supposed to end like this, not when he was not expecting it. He had not begun the day thinking his life would be ending, or he might have done things differently. He might have remembered to think of his parents and his brother a bit more. He might have spent a few more minutes admiring the sky and the sea and the clean air. He might have remembered to thank Robin for having saved his life before. And he certainly would have held his love close, reveled in the sound of her gentle laughter, spoken all those things he never could say to anyone else. _Djaq..._

Will shook his head. He had nothing to say, not to Geoffrey at any rate. He would have wanted someone to let Djaq know what had become of him. But she was bound to find out anyhow. His only consolation was that she was here, in her homeland, with people who would cherish her and take care of her. _I'm sorry, my love. I wish it was all different..._

He lowered his head in defeat, just as Geoffrey unsheathed his sword and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. Geoffrey began to march him into the courtyard of the house. Two guards followed, but Geoffrey waved them off.

"No. You lot stay here. Guard the entrances, make sure nobody comes in or goes out. I can take care of this man myself."

Geoffrey jostled Will out of the door, shoving him around the corner and against a wall. Will closed his eyes, hoping for a quick and painless end. A long-buried memory came to him...of clods of earth falling over his mother's coffin, erasing her forever. _So this is it then, the end of everything. _A strange sort of peace came over him, a notion he was about to be freed from worry and hunger and poverty.

He held his breath, waiting for a blow that never came. Geoffrey's grip on Will's collar loosened, and he withdrew his sword. Will opened his eyes to find the other man looking at him with an odd expression on his face.

"Alright. Now we're even."

Will was incredulous, too stunned to do anything but stammer.

"Don't be a fool. I'm letting you go. I'll tell the others there was a struggle, and you got away."

"I...I don't understand."

Geoffrey sighed. "You're a good man. I won't have a good man die because he's not as clever as he is honest.

"Go home. Bed your woman. Live your life as you wish. Just don't get involved in affairs too great for you to understand."

Will was still in a state of shock, but he managed to croak out a few words of thanks.

Geoffrey shook his head and patted Will on the shoulder. "But keep your wits about you. You may be safe from me, but there are greater dangers here."

Will nodded, his mind still dull, his reactions slowed by his brush with near-death. He pushed himself away from the wall, willing his legs to work so he could get away.

He had only walked two steps when he remembered what Geoffrey had said. He turned and swung hard, catching the other man squarely on the chin. "_Now_ we're even."

--000--

Djaq sat on a divan in a back room in Rashida's house, waiting. Patience did not come naturally to her, and her worry for Will's safety and her frustration at not being able to follow him properly left her feeling irritable and edgy.

All this was compounded by Rashida not being able to speak with her right away. It was easy to forget that the house was a brothel and that Rashida had guests to entertain, especially at this time of day. Still, Djaq was determined to get to the bottom of things. She had a sense that Barkhat's words threatening Will had first been spoken by another and the servant had merely repeated what she had heard. This meant the threat was real, and she had to do whatever she could to neutralize it.

A sudden chill came over her, prompting Djaq to pull her shawl closer. She realized that she did not much like Rashida's house. For one, it was in a part of the city she had never particularly liked, even as a child. For another, her usual companions—Rashida's many orphans—were nowhere to be seen, and this did nothing to lessen Djaq's disquiet.

Djaq was not certain that Rashida was actually occupied and not simply refusing to see her for some other reason. She was also uncertain what she intended to ask the other woman. There was no way to politely raise the fact that she was married to an Englishman when she had not bothered to make this known to Rashida earlier. Also, there was always the possibility Rashida herself presented some threat to Will. It would not do to expose Will to any more danger now.

Djaq mulled over what to ask, and how to phrase it vaguely enough to keep Rashida off the scent. She was fond of Rashida, but not so much she could not see what the woman was really like. Rashida traded not only in flesh but also in power. Her business revolved as much around information as anything else. Djaq suspected Rashida would not part easily with any knowledge, but it might be possible to pressure her into it. Otherwise, there was always bribery.

Djaq was fingering the leather pouch at her waist, mentally calculating how much she could afford to give the woman when the sound of footsteps and the rustling of fabric outside the door alerted her. She sat up straight and craned her head towards the door to be able to better hear. Women were whispering, but Djaq could not catch more than a few scattered words here and there. A moment later, Rashida entered the room with a flourish, followed by a servant carrying a tray with tea and sweets.

Rashida greeted Djaq politely and took a seat on some cushions across from the divan. Only a slight crinkling of her brow revealed any worry. Otherwise, she appeared as cheerful as she always was. She waved the servants away and poured tea for Djaq.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my lady Saffiyah?"

Djaq smiled and took the proffered cup of tea. "Where are the children? I do not see them about."

Rashida frowned. "I had to send them away...to my house in the south. Acre grows more dangerous by the hour."

Djaq nodded and took a few polite sips of her drink before pressing on. "Indeed, it is of the dangers in the city that I wish to speak to you."

Rashida raised an eyebrow. "I am only aware of them in the way you are, my lady."

"Ah, I hardly think that is the case, Rashida _khallah_. I am certain that if there is something brewing in the city, you would be the first to know of it."

Rashida smirked. "I will take that as the compliment it was intended to be."

Djaq smiled, but felt more worry than mirth. On any other day, she might have enjoyed a verbal sparring match with this woman, but now, she had no time and hardly any patience.

"I will be direct. I am here to ask questions about my husband."

Rashida looked surprised and then amused. "I do not know your husband, my lady." She set her cup down with great care. "And even if I did, I would not be inclined to answer your questions."

"Why not?"

"I am successful in this...enterprise...because men trust me with their secrets." She narrowed her eyes at Djaq. "And if those secrets are the sort that men keep even from their wives, it is hardly my place to reveal them."

"And if I were to force you?" Djaq pulled at her sleeve, knowing that the gesture—and the knife hidden there—would not be lost on Rashida.

"You may try, my lady. But I have not lived so long in so dangerous a world without knowing how to protect myself."

Djaq stalled, trying to take a different tack. Rashida was not the sort of woman to respond to gentle persuasion or physical threat. But she might be amenable to a different sort of pressure.

"Rashida _khallah_, I admire you. I even like you, but I ask you to remember, with all due respect, your place in this world.

"I cannot imagine that your customers would take so kindly to you when they hear you threatened a woman of rank and wealth."

Rashida bowed her head in apparent concession. "That may well be, my lady. But in a contest between you and me, would a man with secrets take your side? Or mine?"

Djaq returned the woman's bow with as much insincerity as she could manage. She had expected the woman to be difficult, but not quite so intractable. There was no point in continuing with any sort of threat. It was time for the direct approach. Rashida was a merchant, and money would speak louder here than anything else.

Djaq pushed aside a corner of her tunic to reach for her pouch of coins, flicking a few wood shavings off her skirts in the process. The shavings reminded her of England...of trees and...

_Wood shavings?_ Djaq eyes widened. That meant..._no, it couldn't be_. She looked around her, and sure enough, in a neat pile on the floor were shavings of wood probably made with a whittling knife. _Or a small hatchet_. She scuffed the pile with her foot, making the shavings scatter.

"Rashida _khallah_...my husband...he has been here."

Rashida appeared confused, and then, as comprehension dawned, all the blood seemed to run out of her face. "Your husband is the Englishman? The one called al-Ahmar?"

"Yes, he—"

"You must leave this place now. It is not safe for you here. Your husband is in grave danger. You must warn him to stay away from the city. Make him stay at your house until all this is over." Rashida held her hands up in a sign of helplessness. "I ask for your forgiveness. Please."

"No, I..." Djaq could not speak, worry and confusion clouding her mind.

"One of my men will take you back to your house." Rashida stood and clasped both of Djaq's hands. "I will help in any way I can, I promise you. But for now, you must go."

Djaq nodded dully. Please _Allah, do not let my Will come to any harm_.

--000--

Will ran. He ran blindly, desperate to put distance between himself and the death he had somehow escaped. His legs felt like lead, and his lungs burned, but he kept running. Somewhere in the distance were safety and peace and, most importantly, Djaq. If he could somehow get to her, everything would be alright. He would be safe, and all this would be over.

It was not until he had run nearly a mile away from the house that he realized he had no idea where he was. He was desperately winded, so he stopped. He leaned his arm on a wall for support, gasping for breath. As new air filled his lungs, the city resolved itself into vaguely familiar shapes. His senses came back to normal even as his heartbeat slowed and his brain finally began to catch up to his legs.

From the layout of the street and sight of the market square nearby, he guessed he was somewhere near the city walls, not far from Bassam's house. And something was terribly wrong.

He was almost certain he was being followed, but he could not tell by whom or for how long. He would not have noticed his pursuer if the man had not turned the corner a few streets away just as Will's eyes had adjusted to the dim light. The man was moving very stealthily, dipping in and out of sight too often to be a normal passerby. The man's gait gave away that he was heavily armed, and Will decided not to risk finding out the man's identity.

He began running again, this time in the opposite direction, hoping to lose the man tailing him, but to no avail. He had run two streets to the north when he realized there was more than one man following him. He guessed there were probably only two, but there was no way to be certain. He simply had to keep going.

It only took another half mile before they nearly caught up to Will. They were only a street away now, and Will was surprised to find a third man on the rooftops, crossbow trained on Will in the street below. There was no point in running now. He would have to fight them off.

He called out in Arabic. "What do you want?" There was no answer. He pulled out his hatchet and the long dagger in his boot and began to stab at the darkness.

It was only a moment before his two pursuers reached him, and another moment before other men joined them. They were five in all, and they surrounded him, swords unsheathed and at the ready. The men were dressed as Saracens, but their faces were completely obscured by masks, and Will was no closer to knowing who they were than he had been before.

They moved in closer,and the assailant in front of Will slashed his sword through the air. Will moved away just as his hatchet blade caught the man in the arm. He dropped his sword with a yelp, and Will turned, swinging his weapons and kicking away his attackers. Arrows pierced the sky, but somehow, Will managed to duck out of their trajectory, moving constantly, and keeping the attackers at bay.

But the odds were against him, and he was beginning to tire. He had maimed two of the five, but the others remained, as did the archer on the rooftop. There was no way around it. He was going to have to keep running.

He backed away from the two attackers facing him, trying to figure out the most likely point of escape. Were there any open doors here, alleys he could sneak into? Memories of many a similar escape from Nottingham came to him suddenly...memories of knives and swords and arrows and sheer dumb luck. He laughed. He had cheated death once today already, and he was about to do it again.

But, abruptly, the memory faded, replaced by a flash of pain as a sword sliced into his stomach. The world fell away around him. There was no sound, except for the rushing of the blood in his veins, no feeling except for the cold steel of his attacker's blade against his flesh. Everything was utterly still and nearly perfect.

His assailant withdrew his blade, and Will put his hand to his stomach. Liquid seeped between his fingers, warm and sticky, just as sound and feeling rushed back into his head. His knees buckled, and as he toppled over, bleeding his life into the desert, he had only one thought. _Djaq..._

--000--

_Note: My author's notes are a bit like an after-school special, aren't they? ;) _

_In "Lardner's Ring," the character of The Fool is played by Mathew Horne, who is the star of another BBC show, _Gavin and Stacey_. In _G&S_, he plays someone from Essex…which is why I decided that The Fool would also be from Essex. Geoffrey de Mandeville is an actual figure from history. He was the elder son of the 1__st __Earl of Essex (also named Geoffrey) and died in 1166. He had a brother, William de Mandeville, who went on to fight in the Third Crusade alongside Richard I. I considered calling The Fool William, but decided this would be a bit confusing, lol. Although I use Geoffrey de Mandeville's name, no resemblance to the actual heir to the 1__st__ Earl is intended. _

_Saphadin was the Frankish corruption of Sayf-al-Din, who was one of Saladin's most important generals and also his brother. As part of the peace negotiations in Ramla that ultimately ended the Third Crusade, Richard I offered to marry his sister Joan to Saphadin. The Sultan (Saladin) was apparently highly amused by this and agreed, but Joan balked and the marriage was called off. Saphadin had a son named Malik who eventually succeeded to the Ayyubid throne in the Levant. Whether that Malik is intended to be the same as the one on the show, I have no idea. But it was too much of a coincidence for me not to use in this story. _


	17. Chapter 17: Found

**Found**

It was well past nightfall when Djaq arrived back at Bassam's house, one of Rashida's men following at a safe distance. At the gate, she dismissed the man with a wave of her hand, not caring that this was not polite or in keeping with custom.

She had left Rashida's house nearly paralyzed with worry for Will. She did not know what sort of danger he was in—neither where such a danger might present itself, nor who the source of the danger would be. She tried to piece together what she knew, but it was a futile exercise. She had no facts, nothing more than a guess or two, and it frustrated her to be so helpless. The more thought she gave to the problem, the worse she felt.

Eventually, the worry fell away and was replaced by a fury Djaq had not felt in years. She was angry with Will for keeping his activities from her. What could possibly have possessed him to keep her in the dark about this, about _anything_? And what business did he have in a brothel anyway? Her mind shied away from the obvious answer, even as she pondered just how many secrets Will had been keeping. He had never been afraid to speak his mind before, not even when a little lie might have spared the feelings of another, or softened an otherwise deadly blow. She could not imagine him deliberately keeping things from her, much less actually betraying her. Her mind rebelled at the idea, even as her anger at Will made it difficult to think rationally.

A dizzying mess of thoughts chased through her mind, and she determined to put an end to all of this by simply confronting Will. He would tell her everything, and she would help keep him safe...just as he would do for her if their places were exchanged. She pushed exhaustion aside and squared her shoulders as she walked into the passage leading to Will's rooms. She was nearly at the door, her hand outstretched to turn the handle, when Faisal's frantic voice rent the air.

"_Ya sayyidati!_ Come quickly!"

She raced out of the house and into the courtyard. Faisal was crouched on the ground, servants milling around him. They moved away as she approached, averting their eyes when she tried to question them. Finally, as the path ahead of her cleared, she could see what had caused the commotion in the first place. There, lying on the ground in a bloody pile of clothing and blankets was Will. She screamed, and the last thing she remembered was Faisal reaching out to catch her as she crumpled to the ground.

--000--

Djaq woke suddenly, jerked awake by nearly falling out of her chair. She rubbed at the crick in her neck and turned her attention to Will, lying in her bed, face as pale as parchment, with his body wrapped in bandages and smothered in healing poultices.

Once she had come to, Djaq had applied herself frantically to saving Will. Afraid she was unequal to the task in her state, Bassam had called his own physician, and together, they had examined Will and treated him. A blade had sliced broadly through Will's midsection. The wound was wide, but not very deep, and it had been a simple, if time-consuming, task to stitch him up.

Only time would tell if this had been enough. She was certain the wound was not infected, and he did not appear to have any internal injuries. But Will had lost a great deal of blood and had not awakened right away. For nearly two days now, he had been in a fitful half-sleep, tossing and turning feverishly. Djaq was forced to give him a sleeping draught so he would at least get a little rest.

She watched over him, keeping a near-constant vigil, with only Faisal—and sometimes Bassam—for company. Every now and then, Will would speak—sometimes her name, sometimes other things she did not quite understand. Every time, she would lean over to hear what he was saying. She would speak to him in turn and try to reassure him that she was near, but to little avail. Wherever he was now, it was as if he could not hear her.

Faisal sat at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed intently on Will. It had been an odd sort of comfort to Djaq to have Faisal around. He worked hard, spoke little and asked no questions. There was no doubt about his loyalties, or about how stricken he was over Will's near-death. Djaq did not know how Faisal had found Will, whether he had actually gone out looking for Will, or just happened upon him. But she was thankful, nonetheless. He had been Will's guardian angel somehow, and now Will owed him a life.

"Thank you, Faisal. For all you have done. I do not know how I would have managed..."

He looked up at the sound of her voice, but said nothing. He merely watched her for a long time with narrowed eyes, his face betraying none of his thoughts. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft voice Djaq could barely hear.

"You should not have stayed here." He dropped his gaze and turned his attention back to Will. "You should have gone back to England.

"Instead, now, a good man will die. For no reason. All because of you."

"That is—"

Faisal looked away, refusing to continue the conversation. Djaq frowned, shocked at his impertinence and trying to think of ways to counter his words. But nothing came to her. She could not make most people understand why she had stayed behind in Acre, but it was no mystery why Will had stayed. If he lost his life now, it would be just as Faisal said. It would be all because of her.

Despair crowded out the other thoughts in her mind and brought her to the verge of tears. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the emotion, but it had nowhere to go, and soon, she was reduced to crying, the jagged sobs muffled only by her hands over her face.

It took a long time, but the tears ultimately gave way to emptiness, a calming retreat of all feeling. There was only one thing left to do, one place where she could find some solace. She closed her eyes and fell to her knees beside the bed. Faisal gave her an odd look, but ultimately bowed his head, joining her in silent prayer.

_O Allah, merciful and compassionate...I, who have never before asked for anything, ask now for just one thing. Spare this man, your son, not because I ask it, but because he deserves to live. Grant me this one wish_,_ and I will be forever your supplicant as I am at this moment. _

She repeated the _duā_ over and over until she could say the words by rote. She had no idea how much time passed, but exhaustion finally took her, and she fell asleep.

--000--

She walked, trudging over miles and miles of endless sand. The sun blazed in the sky, scorching everything in its path. There were no arrows this time, no men chasing her, nothing. Everything was desert, charred black, robbed of all coolness and as parched as the rest. The desert spirit watched her, sad and forlorn, but whenever she tried to touch him, he remained distant and out of Djaq's reach. In the middle of it all, a forest clearing suddenly appeared, and she made for it like a desert traveler seeking an oasis. But there was nothing save an eerie silence. A man carrying a Saracen bow shoveled dirt onto a wooden coffin in a shallow grave...

"Djaq." A raspy voice spoke in the distance, and a hand trailed gently over her shoulder. The fingers were warm, inviting, so she reached for them. But when she made contact, the fingers disappeared, and the dream dissolved. She woke in confusion and looked up to find Will watching her.

"You're awake!" She resisted the urge to leap onto the bed and smother him with her relieved embrace. Instead, she took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, delighted when he squeezed back.

He gave her a weak smile. "How..."

She smiled brightly at him, unable to think of any words that could convey her relief or happiness.

"Djaq...I..." He tried to sit up, but failed and fell back on to the pillows, grimacing in pain.

"No, later." She pushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes and gently kissed his forehead. "There will be time for talk later. For now, just rest."

She fussed for a few minutes, fixing his pillows and making sure he was comfortable. Will drifted off to sleep eventually, murmuring something to himself. Then, content she had done all she could, she curled up next to him and fell asleep, still holding fast to his hand.

--000--

_Two weeks later_

Will poked at the sand under his feet with a long stick, a weak branch he had stripped off one of the trees in Bassam's courtyard. For once, he was enjoying the feel of the hot desert sun on his back, its warmth dulling the pain of his wound and chasing away the cobwebs in his mind.

He had been restless, aching to be on his feet and doing something—anything—for days now. Djaq had refused outright at first, but at length, she had relented and allowed him to take short walks inside the house. It was as much as he could manage anyway, the pain in his side making it impossible to be on his feet for more than a few minutes at a time. He had refused to drink any more of the draughts Djaq had given him. They made him sleepy and dulled his mind at a time when he needed to concentrate and focus more than ever before.

He had only the vaguest recollection of what had happened. He remembered being captured by The Fool and his men, then inexplicably, joyfully, being let go. The rest of the details were almost lost to him. He had a foggy memory of being involved in some sort of scuffle, but he could not remember a thing that had happened afterwards. Obviously, someone had found him and brought him back to the house. Then, just as she had done for so many others, Djaq had saved his life.

He thought of Djaq and allowed himself a chuckle and a long moment of indulgence. She smiled constantly now, happy and relieved he was recovered. But there was a shadow on her face, a look of worry and fear that put Will on edge. This added to Will's guilt over his own conduct, which had returned powerfully once he had come to. He had tried to tell Djaq everything, but she had mistaken his hesitation for pain and had not let him speak his piece.

Will sighed, and let his thoughts wander. They went, of their own accord, across the seas and the mountains and into the wind-lashed countryside of the English north. He found himself wondering what Luke was up to, helping Auntie Annie with chores, perhaps becoming a craftsman or apprentice himself. A fresh stab of guilt pierced his heart and mingled with an aching loneliness he had not felt in months.

It was only the sound of footsteps that brought him back to the desert. A gentle swish of fabric and a scent he could not quite place let him know Djaq had joined him, but he did not turn to greet her until she sat down next to him on the bench. He gave her a quick nod, a gesture she acknowledged with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

He scuffed out the scratch marks he had made in the sand with the heel of his bare foot. "Nothing, really."

"It does not seem like nothing." She came around and sat on the bench, careful to keep a distance from him. He chanced a glance at her and was relieved to see she was smiling, looking a bit tired but otherwise just like she always did.

He poked the sand with the stick. "It's...I'll show you." He scribbled a bit in the sand and then finished with a flourish, pointing at what he hoped was a reasonable facsimile of his name in her tongue.

She smiled brightly, clearly surprised. "Where did you learn that?"

"Bassam taught me. A few days ago." He shrugged and then added, "I think he thought I was bored."

"It's brilliant. What else have you learned?"

"Oh, just things. You know, table, chair." He grinned. "Wood."

She laughed, and for the next few minutes, they sat together in companionable silence, Djaq taking his hand and moving down the bench to sit closer to him.

After a few more minutes, Will's disquiet returned, and a quick look at Djaq revealed she too was anxious about something.

"Will..." She gave his hand a quick squeeze before she let it go. "How are you feeling?"

"Well. Much better than before, anyway."

She nodded. "Good." She fixed him with her gaze. "Now that you are feeling better...now that you are nearly yourself again, I would like to know how you ended up in such a predicament in the first place."

Her words were soft, but edged with displeasure, like a scolding delivered alongside a plate of honeycakes. Will recoiled and, without really thinking, moved away from her.

She frowned. "There is nothing you wish to tell me?"

_Say it. Just speak your mind, and put her at ease. She deserves to know. _

But the words would not form, and Will looked away, trying to stall and buy time. What was he going to tell her? That he'd been a spy who was unlucky enough to get caught? He was certain Djaq would not believe such a thing anyhow. He knew she would not thank him for keeping her in the dark all this time, either. Besides, he could not fight off the feeling there was more going on with this Malik business than he knew. He had a sense of a task left undone, and he could not tell Djaq everything until he knew all the facts.

She waited for several minutes and then rose from the bench, sighing heavily. "Very well." She pulled something out of a pouch at her waist and pressed it into his palm, curling his fingers around the object. "I thought you would want to have this."

He watched in awe and confusion as she walked away. When he was certain she was back inside the house, he opened his hand slowly to examine the object. It was a small, wooden camel.

--000--

The cage door clanged shut, its occupant squawking loudly in protest. Djaq sighed. The birds had been restless, making dissonant noises and beating their wings frantically. It was as if they had had picked up on her foul mood and were mirroring it in turn.

She had retreated to the aviary after failing to get Will to come clean. Anger at him and guilt over her own secrets warred with other, darker feelings in her mind.

What was the truth in the end? If Will had told her what she wanted to hear, was there any certainty it would be the truth? She shook her head. Will would never lie to her, but he was not giving her the truth either. Why would he keep something from her? Was he afraid? Was he forced to keep silent? Did he know something significant enough that someone would make an attempt on his life?

The questions pooled in Djaq's mind, building into a great mass of contradiction and making her head throb from the effort. She was terribly distracted as she fed the birds. One of them clipped her hand with a beak, and she withdrew with a sharp cry, dropping the basket of seed on the floor.

"Are you alright?" Will was leaning on the doorjamb, looking pale and tired.

She nodded in his direction and returned to her task, wishing he would go away so she would have a chance to think. But Will seemed determined to make conversation, and she sighed as he walked into the aviary and sat down.

He held up the wooden camel. "I know where you got this.

"I wasn't there for...Djaq, I promise I wasn't...whoring about. If that's what you're thinking."

She let out the breath in a long hiss and turned on him. "Do not presume to know what I think!"

Until that moment, his expression had been soft, even contrite. But now the wan smile fell from his face, and he narrowed his eyes, watching her closely. She turned away, discomfited by the intensity of his gaze.

"I know where you got this," he repeated, the softness of his voice nearly masking the true meaning of his words.

Djaq stiffened. She had not considered he might be curious about what she had been doing in a brothel in the first place. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak.

"But I won't ask you what you were doing in a whorehouse. Because I trust you.

"Don't you trust me, Djaq?"

"I..." _Say yes…yes, I've always trusted you_. "I don't know any more. You have been lying to me for so long now."

His gaze did not leave hers. "What do you want from me anyway?"

"The truth, Will. I want to know why you lied to me." She turned back to face him, anger making her voice soft and low. "I want to know if I can forgive you."

He scoffed. "Time was you could forgive a man...even one who was lying to you."

She gaped at him, shocked he would bring up Allan at a time like this. "That is not fair. It is not the same thing."

"Why not? He lied to you, to all of us...more than once." He was standing very close to her now, glaring down at her and frightening her a little. "But you forgave him."

"It was..." She struggled for just the right words. "I trusted him."

"But you don't trust me?" Will gave a mirthless chuckle, the sound making her hair stand on end. "Did you trust him better than me?" The timber of his voice matched hers, low and dangerous. "Did you love him better than me?"

"Get out." She shoved him hard, and the movement was so sudden, it caught Will off guard. He lost his footing and stumbled awkwardly, doubling over in pain as he hit the floor. He clutched his side, and the blood ran out of his face.

"Will!" The anger went out of Djaq almost instantly. She knelt in front of him and helped him to sit properly.

He winced and spoke haltingly. "It's nothing...I just..."

"Let me take a look." She lifted up his tunic to examine him and noted with dismay that a few stitches had come loose and the wound had opened a little. She ran a hand over the spot, checking for any other damage, just as he began to shudder. She looked up to make sure he was not in any pain and then pulled away in shock. Will was crying.

Several minutes passed, and her surprise gave way to a rush of sympathy. She reached a hand up to his face and scrubbed at his tears. "Will, are you..."

He clutched at her and pulled her blindly into his chest. Words tumbled out between jagged sobs, bitter and confused. "I...I wanted it all to be over. I'm so sorry…I thought if you and I could be...then everyone could be like that, too." His anguish was terrible, and Djaq felt it like a tangible thing between them. "But the world is...horrible...broken...I can't fix it...no peace."

"Shh, shh. It is alright." She wound her arms around him and stroked his back gently, letting him cry for as long as he needed. Eventually, she felt him relax, and the sobs turned into whimpers and then, just long, ragged breaths. He stroked her hair, his hands gentle but uncertain.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke, his voice small and tired. "I love you."

She tightened her grip on his waist. "I know."

--000--

_**Author's Note:** I apologize to anyone who has been reading this, for the huge delay in updating. I've been struggling with writer's block, with being insanely busy in real life, and more recently, with a busted laptop. You know how it is..._

_Anyway, many thanks to Wenrom31 for talking me through the writer's block, and for reading my rough drafts. Thanks, as always, to rebeldivaluv for teaching me spelling and grammar. :)_


	18. Chapter 18: Questions

**Questions**

_Mid-December 1194_

Djaq stood in a corner of Bassam's study, admiring an old painting. It was a portrait of the man in his younger days. He was handsome in an old-fashioned sort of way, dressed in his best clothes and wearing a very formal smile. On his lap was a very young Nasim, and behind them, a tall patrician woman wearing a flowing red dress and looking very pleased with herself.

She tried to recall the woman, but outside of a vague childhood memory of silk and perfume, nothing came to her. Djaq had been very young when Bassam's wife had died, and the only thing she could remember of those days was a solemn Nasim refusing to cry at his mother's death. She started, realizing suddenly that it must have been his example that kept her from being completely devastated at the death of her own mother. _It is strange the things we learn as children..._

Nasim had been her bellwether in other ways. He had been the first to observe her interest in medicine, long before her own father had noticed it. He had been the one to encourage her to learn Greek and Latin and open her eyes to a whole world outside the four walls of her home. Certainly, without Nasim's prodding, she—and her brother—would never have learned English. That alone had been the difference between life and death for her—for Saffiyah—and for that, Bassam's son would have her eternal gratitude.

Djaq ran a finger along the edge of the carved, wooden frame, losing herself in thought. It was only the sound of someone else entering the room that brought her back.

"Good morning, Saffiyah." Bassam had his usual indulgent smile, although Djaq thought she saw the traces of a frown as well.

"To you as well, _ammo_." She pointed at the portrait. "I had forgotten how beautiful Zubaida _amma_ was."

"Hmm." Bassam studied the portrait for a moment. "It is strange how a portrait shows only the outside of a person, and not what one should truly know."

Silence fell between them as Bassam considered the portrait. "It is not a very good likeness, I think." He shrugged.

"What happened with you and Nasim?"

Bassam looked at her in shock.

Djaq retreated immediately. "I am sorry. It is not my place to ask such a thing...I thought..."

"No, it is alright." He gave her a small smile. "You ask out of affection, and so I will tell you. But not now. We have other things to talk about."

"Ah yes, you asked to speak to me, _ammo_?"

He brightened and waved her into a chair by the window. "Yes, yes. I have some questions for you, actually."

"That is good, for I have one for you as well."

Bassam laughed. "Of course you do." He gave her a pointed look before speaking again. "But as age must come before beauty, perhaps you will allow me to ask first?"

Djaq bowed her head politely. "Of course. You may ask me anything."

He sat down in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "I wish to know how Will came to be in his current...er, predicament."

Djaq stiffened, surprised by the question and unsure what to say. At length, she decided to tell Bassam the truth. After all, they were living under his roof and at his pleasure. It would hardly be fair to keep things from him.

She began slowly, explaining things to Bassam as Will had described them to her. She told him plainly of Will's involvement with Malik, of his desire to bring about an end to the war. It was harder to explain that Will had been captured by the English, but somehow let go. Of the actual attack on Will, Djaq said almost nothing. Will had been very vague on the details, and she suspected he could not remember what had actually happened.

Bassam listened with keen attention, stopping her every now and then to ask a question or to have something clarified. When she was done, he regarded her thoughtfully.

"You are certain that is all there is to Will's story?"

Djaq nodded. "I am certain Will has told me everything I need to know. If there are things he has not told me, it is only because he does not know all himself."

Bassam looked doubtful, but conceded the point. "Very well." He tapped his fingers on the desk before him. "You will understand my concern. I do not wish for Will to come to any harm, now or later. But more than that, I wish to know if this household is in any danger."

"Of the future, I cannot say. The men who attacked him left him for dead." Djaq shivered at the thought. "My feeling is they believe he is dead...and I think it best to leave it that way."

Bassam nodded emphatically. "Yes, that would be best. Make sure he does not leave the house except under guard, or with an escort." His voice trailed off, and he was silent for several minutes. "You had something to ask me?"

"Yes." Djaq smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirts. "You may have heard what happened with Barkhat."

Bassam chuckled. "I heard the rumors, yes." He said the words lightly, but his expression soon became serious. "Saffiyah, it is of no concern to me what happened between you and your maid. You need not explain."

"I know, and I thank you for understanding. But I have a question. I want to know how she came to find me in the first place." For weeks now, she had pondered the problem of Barkhat, of her evil actions, and how she seemed to know things well outside her social sphere. Djaq could not believe the maid had acted alone; someone had to have put her up to it.

Bassam raised an eyebrow at her. "I am sorry, Saffiyah. But I have no answer for you. She came here one day and announced herself." Bassam pondered for a moment. "But I think I would not have allowed her into the house were it not for the letter she had."

"A letter?"

"Yes. A note of introduction. From your friend, Anissa bint Qasim."

--

Will walked slowly through the market, Faisal at his side. He had stubbornly refused to ride in a carriage, and in fact, he had intended to make this trip into the city alone. But Bassam would have none of it and had insisted Faisal accompany him, so Will had reluctantly agreed.

It was slow going. Although his wound had healed nicely and there was almost no pain, the little activity he'd had over the past few weeks did not prepare him for brisk walking through crowded spaces. He stopped every now and then, pretending to sample the wares at various market stalls, not wanting to admit it was actually because he needed the respite.

They were on their way to Rashida's brothel, to ask questions and get answers. After he had confessed almost all he knew, Djaq seemed satisfied, or at least, she had no more questions for him. But Will himself was less certain. He could not understand what exactly had happened after his encounter with The Fool, or even how he had been caught in the first place. But mostly, it felt as if some part of the story was missing. Something was being kept from him, and until he figured it out, he would not be able to rest.

In hindsight, he was glad he was not alone. Tensions in the city were running high. Saladin's armies were making a great push north up the coast, even as King Richard and his allies moved south and east, both making for the great battle at Jerusalem. In the last week, the Saracens had closed in around Acre, determined to regain control of it. Will himself had seen the Sultan's massed armies not far from the edges of Bassam's property. It was an impressive force, surrounding the city like a noose being tightened around its neck, and he was not sure how long the Crusaders could keep the Sultan at bay. The Englishmen and Franks who milled about the marketplace were nervous and quick to anger. Their mood was reflected back at them by the merchants, who were equally testy and intractable. Will was dressed in Saracen garb, with a hood and scarf obscuring most of his face, but those who noticed his light eyes and pale skin gave him wary looks and kept their distance.

It was a relief to leave the markets behind after a while and walk once more in the narrow streets of the city. There were fewer people here and fewer suspicious glances, but the tension remained. The windows on most houses were shuttered or darkened, and children who should have been playing in the alleys were noticeably absent. Will ignored his growing disquiet as they passed the part of the city where he had been attacked, but he could not help thinking Nottingham had never seemed quite so desolate, quite so ready for destruction.

Faisal, too, was disturbed by the sights around them. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "It is just as it was three years ago. During the first siege."

Will shivered. He knew nothing of what happened before, but just knowing Djaq had suffered through it was enough to frighten him and blacken his mood. _That_ had been his mission all along, to ensure _she_ would never have to suffer through another war. But it had all come to naught, and he had nearly died in the process.

He sighed, prompting a look of concern from Faisal. Will shrugged it off. "Nothing, just thinking."

"About what?"

"About how the world and its kings deserve each other."

Faisal gaped at him and then gave him a smirk and a quick nod. "You are too good a man for this place."

"Don't say that. It doesn't feel right." Indeed, it felt like a lie now. Everything he had done in Acre had been a falsehood, a betrayal, an exercise in futility. And this, his quest to have his questions answered, was the only way he knew to set everything right again.

A new determination seized him as Rashida's house loomed in the distance. Faisal nudged him as they neared the entrance.

"Be careful. Keep your weapon close."

Will nodded and showed him the dagger he was carrying in his cloak. "Are you not coming with me?"

Faisal shook his head and spat. "It is not the sort of place I would like to be seen."

"Then wait for me here."

Faisal nodded. "Whatever I, Faisal ibn Daud, can do to protect you, I will."

Will started towards the door, but stopped in his tracks. "Daud?" Will looked at Faisal in surprise. "It was your father, then. The old man in the king's camp?"

"Yes." Faisal smiled and then winked at Will conspiratorially. "I could not always follow you and make sure you were safe, so he offered to look out for you in my stead."

Will bristled slightly. It was not as if he needed someone to keep him safe; he was not a child, after all. Then again, he had nearly gotten himself killed, so perhaps Faisal had been right to do as he did. Will clapped the other man gently on the shoulder. "I thank you. I owe you a life. Maybe more than one."

Faisal bowed his head politely, obviously pleased with himself and with Will. Then he clucked his tongue in admonition. "Go now. Finish all this quickly."

Will ventured up the steps to the door of the house and then beckoned Faisal to him. "If I'm not back in an hour, come find me. If you cannot, go back home and alert Dj...the lady Saffiyah. She will know what to do."

Faisal nodded and took up a silent perch at the bottom of the steps as Will ducked into the door. An old doorward ushered him into Rashida's salon and announced him. Will took a seat and braced himself for the encounter.

Several minutes later, Rashida walked in, arms held out in greeting and a fixed smile on her face.

"Al-Ahmar, I am so happy to see you. We feared the worst, Harold and I."

He took her hands, but did not acknowledge her words in any way. Behind her, Harold gave Will a wan smile.

"It's good to see you, Will Scarlett. We thought you were dead."

"I thought I was dead, too. For a while, anyway.

"That's why I'm here, actually." Will hesitated, unsure what exactly to ask now that he was actually here. He inclined his head in Rashida's direction. "I need some answers, and I hear you're the person who has them."

"That depends on the question, does it not?"

"I don't know. I'm not much for riddles. Or lies."

The genial smile she had been wearing fell from her face, and she glared at Will. He kept his gaze steady, challenging her.

Harold cleared his throat, and the sound broke the impasse between the other two. "You know, Rashida's not much for the direct approach. And she doesn't like being called a liar." He smiled knowingly in her direction. "But if you ask her nicely, she'll tell you the truth."

"Ask her _nicely_?"

"She's a woman of...some importance." He gave Will a meaningful look. "And you wouldn't like it one bit if I wasn't polite to _your_ woman, would you?"

Will swallowed his words and a bit of his pride. "Fair enough. I'm sorry." He turned to Rashida. "Will you help me?"

Rashida gave him a cold look and took her time to answer. "I am not inclined to help you, no. But...I like you. And more importantly, I like your wife." She smiled, and this time, the gesture was sincere. "Ask me anything."

Will grinned at her, thankful she had agreed so quickly. He was mildly curious what Rashida knew of his wife, but that was a question for another time. "I want to know who attacked me. I mean...someone wanted me dead. Someone left me for dead." He shook his head. "I don't think I'm important enough for that."

"I cannot say I know who did this to you." She grew thoughtful. "What did they look like?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know. They wore masks; it was too dark for me to see much, really. I think there were three of them, maybe four…dressed like Saracens."

Harold cut in. "Doesn't mean they were Saracen, though. Could have been Crusaders pretending to be Saracens."

"I...I'm certain they were Saracen." Will forced himself to think about the attack, but it had been very dark, and his recollections were cloudy at best. Snatches of the night came to him slowly, like bits of a long**-**forgotten dream.

Rashida shrugged. "Probably just some ruffians looking to rob you."

Harold was not satisfied with that. "I don't think it's that simple. What language did they speak?"

"Arabic." Will's voice trailed off as his memory sharpened a little. "No...I called out to them, but there was no answer. I don't...I don't think they ever spoke."

Harold nodded. "Did they have proper weapons?"

Will thought for a moment before answering. "Yes, they did. There were a couple of Saracen swords, and maybe a man with a crossbow." His head was beginning to throb from the effort of trying to remember. "Some daggers, maybe."

"So there was more than one man, they had proper weapons, and they attacked you in a place where you couldn't really get away."

Rashida and Harold exchanged a look. She whispered something to Harold, but Will could not catch it.

Harold explained, "_Hashashin_. They're a sect of Saracens. Sometimes they're on Saladin's side, and sometimes they're not. But they're a dangerous lot…trained to kill, usually with daggers or swords, and in secret.

"It's not typical for them to attack a man in the street, though. And there's usually only one of them at a time." He grew thoughtful and scratched his chin before answering. "Four _hashashin_ cost a lot of money, too. Must have been hired by someone rich, someone pretty important."

"What?" Will knew assassins were used only by the wealthy and important, but it was usually to dismiss other wealthy and important people. An English peasant far from home did not rate as either, and he could not understand why anyone of significance would want him dead.

Harold gave him a sympathetic look. "Someone really wanted to you out of the picture, obviously."

"But why? And who?"

Rashida gasped, but by the time Will caught it, she had recovered. Harold gave her a look of reproof before he spoke again.

"I would guess Malik." Harold scratched his nose thoughtfully.

"No, I do not think the prince would stoop so low as to use _hashashin_." Rashida was indignant, almost as if Harold had insulted her personally.

Harold did not waver. "He has the most to lose, though. And I don't put it past him."

Rashida scoffed. "It could be the English. Your king would want a spy dealt with properly."

"Could be. English gold is just as good as Saracen gold, after all. The _hashashin_ don't care who pays them." He took a swig of wine from a flask a servant had just brought in. "I should know. I used to be one." Harold gave an exaggerated bow to Rashida and lapsed into silence when she gave him a baleful glare.

Will watched the exchange with interest, curiosity and confusion doing battle in his mind. On the one hand, it made sense the king would want him silenced, but The Fool had that chance and let it slip. On the other hand, it was as Harold said; Malik had much more to lose with Will running around Acre, speaking of the now-lost cause for peace. But that did not really add up, either. There was one part of the puzzle at least that did not point clearly to Malik as the culprit.

"Very well. So Malik wanted me dead." He waited until their attention was back on him. "But if that's true, then why did he keep paying me? Even when he realized I was no use to him anymore?" He pointed at Rashida. "You were the one who gave me the money;you knew about it."

Rashida stared blankly at Will, only a slight tremor of her mouth betraying any emotion. Harold cursed and finally turned to her.

"It's gone too far now, love. You have to tell him."

Will balked and stared at Rashida. At first, she refused to meet his eyes, but after a few moments, she looked at him with apology written plainly on her face.

"I am so sorry. I never should have let all this happen." The regret in her voice was sincere.

"I…I don't understand."

"The money…it did not come from Malik."

"From who, then?"

"From al-Akkari."

Will could barely believe his ears. "From Lord Bassam?"

"No, from his son. From Nasim."

--

Djaq doffed her veils and took a seat on a low cushion in Anissa's salon. Outwardly, she was as calm as always, but a sea storm of thoughts brewed in her mind. She could not believe Anissa had been at the bottom of the mess with Barkhat. Anissa, sensible and virtuous, who had been her friend for as long as she could remember? _That_ Anissa could not possibly be connected with such evil. It was not feasible that someone Djaq loved and trusted so deeply had betrayed her.

But then again, even Will—a good, decent man, _her_ Will—had lied to her and kept her in the dark. At least he had never intended Djaq any harm. There was no malice in Will, and certainly none directed towards her. But Anissa was another matter.

She had never spoken of her life after the siege to Djaq, but Djaq had heard enough rumor and idle chatter to have pieced together the story herself. It was a horrible tale, and Anissa had lived through agony and humiliation of the sort nobody could face without being changed forever. That she had somehow managed to find a normal life as a wife and a mother was a testament to Anissa's strength, to her inherent goodness perhaps, but who could blame her for giving in to her darkest urges? If she had in fact plotted with Barkhat to do the unthinkable, it could only be out of some misplaced need to avenge herself against the English, against those who had treated with her so cruelly.

Reason warred against suspicion in Djaq's mind. The only rationale she would allow was that the trials of Anissa's life had changed her forever. The horrors she had seen had somehow darkened her soul, enough that she would consider doing harm to an old and dear friend. It was the only explanation that satisfied Djaq, and she was here in Anissa's house to have it confirmed.

A gentle clinking of gold bangles and a rustle of fabric announced her host's arrival. She smiled and came to Djaq's side almost instantly, trying to embrace her. "Saffiyah, it is good to see you. Are you well?"

Djaq feigned a politeness she did not feel. "Well enough. And you?"

"Oh, I am as well as I can be, but I have not slept properly in days." Indeed, there were dark circles under Anissa's eyes, and her face looked pinched and tired.

Djaq raised an eyebrow in question, and Anissa waved off what she perceived as Djaq's concern. "It's nothing. The little one, he does not sleep so well at night." She put a hand to her forehead for a moment and then laughed. "But there is no happier reason to have a sleepless night. I do not mind it.

"Enough about that. I do not want to be the woman who speaks of nothing but her child." She reached out to take Djaq's hand. "I want to know what goes on with you. I have not seen you in so long."

Djaq pulled her hand away from Anissa's and made no move to respond. Anissa knit her brow in confusion. After a moment, she adopted the same blank expression as her friend and continued.

"So tell me, Saffiyah. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"I think you know why I am here."

"No. In truth, I have no idea." She smirked at Djaq. "And as I do not yet have the power to divine your mind, perhaps you can simply tell me."

Djaq smiled in spite of herself. Anissa had always had a good turn of phrase, but Djaq was determined not to be swayed by just pretty words.

"I wish to know about Barkhat."

"Your maid? Why?"

"She is...no longer with me."

Anissa frowned. "What happened?"

Djaq gave her a frank look, challenging Anissa to be honest. "She displeased me. As you do now."

"What? I do not understand." Anissa looked confused, but her expression changed suddenly. "Of what do you accuse me?"

"Do I have reason to accuse you?"

"I do not know. It depends on what darkness has overtaken you!" Anissa snapped at her, crossing her arms in indignation and staring Djaq down.

"Your anger is a good match for your perfidy."

"What is this nonsense, Saffiyah?!" Anissa paced the length of the room, wringing her skirts with her hands. "You come to my house, uninvited and unannounced, and you accuse me of some terrible deed." She glared at Djaq. "Tell me why I should tolerate this...why I should not have you thrown out this instant."

Djaq watched her carefully, looking for a sign of insincerity, of malice. But there was nothing there, save righteous anger. She took a deep breath and braced herself.

"I heard you sent her to me. I need to know why."

Anissa gave Djaq a quizzical look. "I...I don't understand. I never sent her to you."

"But...Bassam _ammo_. He said you sent a note, introducing her."

Anissa's expression was still confused, but realization dawned suddenly, and she slapped her own forehead. "Oh, yes. I do remember now.

"She came to me months ago. She said she was looking for work and asked if I would write her a letter.

"I never thought to ask her where she was going with the letter, to which house she intended to attach herself." She paused and gave Djaq a sad smile. "I thought you were...well, I had no reason to think she was coming to you."

"I..." Djaq was lost for words. She had been prepared to hear Anissa's excuses with a cold mind, one devoid of emotion or judgment. But this, Anissa's complete denial of any involvement, she had not expected. It made no sense. Barkhat was simply not capable of such evil, not on her own.

Anissa sat down next to Djaq. "Why are you asking me all this? What did she do anyhow?"

Djaq gave her a desperate look. "She...she tried to poison me."

Anissa's jaw dropped as Djaq's words registered. "What?"

"She wished me to be barren, to rid me of any child that might grow in my womb."

"Oh, Saffiyah!" She clasped her hands to her chest, mortified. "I am so sorry. Are you...alright?"

Djaq scrubbed at her eyes, trying to prevent the tears that threatened. "I am not certain. I do not think there is...any permanent damage."

Anissa nodded and then gave Djaq a quick embrace. "I am truly sorry. If I had known, I never would have—"

"No, it is not your fault. How could you have known what was in Barkhat's heart?"

Anissa gave a soft gasp of surprise, and pulled away from Djaq abruptly. "Oh, Saffiyah." She began to twist the fabric of her skirts between her fingers again. "I should have known. I should have guessed..."

Djaq looked at her in confusion, not comprehending the other woman's sudden worry.

Anissa shook her head and looked miserable. "I should have guessed," she repeated. She took Djaq's hand. "I hope you will forgive me.

"You see, she did not come here alone. Nasim brought her to me."

--


	19. Chapter 19: Answers

**Answers**

_A week later_

Will stood stock-still in a corner of Nasim's study and waited. Neither his face nor his stance betrayed his roiling emotions. His mind was in utter turmoil, anger and bitterness beating at his conscience like great waves battering a rocky cliff. He had so many questions and almost no answers, but he knew even learning the answers would not help him understand just how all this had happened. He still had no idea how Nasim had been involved in the attack on him, but he was determined to find out why. And then there was the matter with Djaq.

Two days ago, she had returned from a visit to the city looking disheveled and completely distraught. She would not speak to him, no matter how much he pressed her. She had refused all form of comfort—food, drink, even his company—and eventually, she had simply slipped into the aviary and not returned.

He had let it go at first, knowing Djaq preferred to tackle her emotions in her own way. But a day away from her was more than Will could bear, so he opted for persistence instead. He stood inside her door for nearly an hour, inching ever closer to her, until she simply tired of it and hauled him inside. Once there, though, it had not taken much prodding for her to break down and tell him what she had been through. It had been too hard to make out the facts of her story through her tears and her distress. All he had understood was that her servant had done something horrible to her.

Djaq's anguish had been far more terrible than the actual tale, and it had taken the next few days for her usual calm to return. Even then, she had remained listless and unhappy, and nothing Will did made any difference. It hurt him to think of it now, and his hand moved to his chest automatically, trying to stem the pain. He did not understand why, but even though Djaq had not named him explicitly, she had said enough about being betrayed by those she believed in for Will to guess Nasim might be responsible for her heartache as well.

"I am glad to see you." Nasim's voice cut through Will's thoughts. "I was very worried."

Will regarded him coldly. "Were you?"

"Yes, I..." Nasim met his gaze evenly, and Will had the sense Nasim was buying time, trying to work out how much Will knew. "I heard of the...unfortunate thing that befell you."

"I'm surprised you only _heard_ about it. Considering."

Nasim backed up a step, looking stricken, as Will's meaning became clear. "You think I had something to do with it? That I wanted to—?"

"Didn't you?"

"No! I swear it. On all that is holy, I never meant you any harm."

There was a pleading note in Nasim's voice, and for a second, Will was moved. But he hardened his heart and stepped closer.

"I don't believe you." Will pulled himself up straight and stared Nasim down.

Nasim cowered but kept his eyes on Will. "You _must_ believe me." He sat down heavily in his chair. "I tried my best...in the end, I tried." He ran a nervous hand through his hair but could no longer meet Will's eyes. "I even sent a note to the whore Rashida, to make sure she would warn you...so you would know to stay away."

Will scoffed. "So now you're responsible for trying to kill me, and for trying to save my life? I don't believe you."

He reflected on Nasim's words. "How did you know...that I was in danger? I mean, before anyone else did?"

Nasim kept his eyes downcast, his voice now barely audible. "From Malik." He fell silent again, running a finger along a groove in his desk, but eventually, he raised his head and spoke, this time meeting Will's gaze. "There were rumors, you know. That you'd been...discovered by the English. Malik was afraid."

"Of what?"

Nasim shrugged. "I do not know. Perhaps he was scared you would give him away...tell the English of his involvement.

"I told him I didn't think you were that sort of man. That you were too...honest to give him away, but he didn't believe me."

"I'm not thanking you for the compliment."

Nasim gave him a small, sad smile. "No, I didn't think you would."

"Why didn't you warn me yourself? You had so many chances. Tell me the truth." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You did what you did to me, but you didn't hurt Djaq, did you? Tell me you're not responsible for the other thing. With Djaq's servant."

Will waited for an answer, but none came, confirming his suspicion. A new wave of anger threatened, but he pushed it away and sighed. "You know what? It doesn't matter anyway. I'm tired of all this."

He held out the wooden box he had been carrying under his arm. "I'm giving you back your money. I don't want it. Not any more." He flipped open the lid, revealing a cache of silver coins. "It's all there. You can count it, if you like."

Nasim looked at the money in surprise and then back at Will. "You do not have to return that. It is yours."

"No, I don't want something I didn't earn honestly." Will pushed the box towards Nasim. "It's all tainted now anyway."

Nasim shook his head. "You don't understand. It was already your money...even before I delivered it to Rashida."

Will gave him a look of confusion, prompting Nasim to speak again. "The money is from Saffiyah, actually."

"What!?"

"She is a woman of some wealth, and she came to me a few months ago, asking me to find a way to deed it to you." He laughed, the sound hollow and mirthless. "This seemed as good a way as any other."

Will felt his knees weaken, and he sank down into a chair. So it had all been for nothing then! The peace mission had never had much chance of success, and even his attempts to earn money for Djaq's comfort had been for nothing.

Everything was falsehood, a hundred lies told to keep one more lie going. Even Djaq had lied. Why had she wanted to give him money? Was she ashamed he was poor or worried he would not be able to give her the life she wanted? She could have just told him all this, surely. Why all the secrets?

He shook his head, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. Djaq had always known what he was, and she had never had any reservations about marrying an English peasant before. She had only wanted to share her wealth with him, and he could not fault her for that. He did not need the gesture—or the money—but it had come from a place of affection, and he knew Djaq was utterly blameless in all this.

But the man before him, he was at the middle of it all, a snake who had charmed Will and Djaq and somehow set them against each other. Will had trusted the man, trusted him to know better, to do right. Djaq had trusted Nasim with her wealth and, in at least one way, her life...

Anger flooded through his veins, clouding his thoughts as he reached into his boot to pull out his dagger. He would plunge it into Nasim's black heart, and somehow, that would make everything better. His hand curled around the hilt, the wood warm and familiar under his fingers. The blade was halfway out of its sheath when a new thought came to Will suddenly. He shoved the dagger back into its sheath and took a minute to collect himself, marveling at how he had missed this one fact for so long.

He squared his shoulders and spoke to Nasim, his new knowledge dissolving his anger away and leaving behind only a calm determination. "You know, I came here wanting answers, to find out why you did all this." He pinned the other man down with his gaze. "But I think I know why.

"You're in love with Djaq."

Nasim looked at Will in shock. His mouth worked as he labored to say something, but no words came.

"This was all just a ruse to get me out of the way, wasn't it? All this stuff with Malik?"

Nasim regarded Will for a moment. "At first, yes. Malik needed an Englishman who was...expendable, and I offered you up.

"But over time, I learned to respect you...like you, even." He laughed in that same strange way as before. "Even more, I knew Saffiyah would be distraught if you came to any harm."

He shrugged, holding his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. "But by then, it was too late to undo it all. Too many things were in motion.

"But you must believe me. I _did_ try."

Will shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It never would have worked, no matter what you did."

Nasim looked miserable, like a man about to receive a death sentence, but this invoked no sympathy in Will's heart. It just made him more determined to have some kind of justice for himself. And for Djaq.

"See, there's something you don't understand. For all your learning and your wealth.

"It was never about me, don't you see?" Will leaned forward in his chair. "Djaq is not the sort of woman you can just have. She's not a prize you show off to the world." Will marveled at how easily the words came to him, when he spoke of her. "You can't ever hope to hold her to yourself. She's too..." He tried to think of just one word that would describe all of Djaq perfectly, but nothing came to him.

"You could have gotten rid of me a hundred times over, and you wouldn't be any closer to her. Do you understand?"

Nasim said nothing, and Will sighed. "I don't know if it's God's grace, or circumstance, or even just plain luck, but she's only with me because she wants to be. It was always her choice...it was never about me."

Nasim sighed. "I suppose she chose better than me in the end."

"Maybe."

"Aren't you going to punish me?" Nasim was oddly calm. "You would be within your rights to take my life."

"Desert justice?" Will scoffed. "No, I won't punish you.

"It's not that you don't deserve it." Will gave Nasim a hard look. "I came here to punish you, maybe even kill you.

"But look at you now." Will's voice was full of scorn. "You've fallen so far from what you were, what you should be. Even in your own eyes. And all because you wanted something that was never yours to begin with.

"You have to live with yourself now, with what you've done for the rest of your life. That's punishment enough."

Will nodded and rose to leave. There was nothing more for him here. He had what he came for in a way, and that was plenty. He was nearly out the door when Nasim called him back.

"Will..."

Will turned, surprised the other man had anything left to say.

Nasim spoke haltingly, still not meeting Will's eyes. "I know I have no right to ask you anything." He clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. "I beg you not to tell Saffiyah about all this."

Will shook his head. "I can't promise you that. She deserves to know." He ducked his head out the doorway and then cast one last look back at Nasim. "Don't come near me—or my wife—ever again."

--

_My dear Saffiyah, may the blessings of Allah be upon you. _

_I write now to tell you what you must already know, or at least suspect. My hands quiver with shame as I take quill to parchment, but I have neither the courage nor the heart to speak to you plainly and in person. _

_I have done you a grave injustice_,_ and for that, there is no recourse. I would apologize, but what use is my regret when it cannot undo what already is done? I write this now only so that you may know how harshly to judge me in the end. _

_I love you. I have always loved you, ever since we were both just children, and I am certain I will go to my grave with your name on my lips. In my callous youth, I thought enough of myself to think I deserved you, that I was good enough for you. But your father felt otherwise, so he refused me when I asked for you. I begged him to reconsider, warned him there was hardly a better match for you in all this land, but he would have none of it. I asked my own father to speak on my behalf, but he, too, refused, saying you were too young to be made any man's wife. Before I could muster my courage to make a second request, your father was gone, along with everyone else in your house, and I believed all was lost._

_Indeed, when I heard you had perished in the siege, I was beside myself. I tore my hair and wept for days, and when I finally had the strength to speak of my loss, I accused my father of having caused your death. I believed, in my grief, that if only I had you, if you had been my wife, I could have saved you from any fate. I cursed him and swore I would never set foot in his house again, and he bade me good riddance and mourned me as if I were dead. _

_I never expected to see you again, so when you were returned to us, I could not understand why Allah, blessed be His name, would bring you back to me with one hand, and yet keep you from me with the other. I decided it could only have been some error in the course of nature, so I set about to correct it all and somehow restore you to your proper place at my side. _

_It was, in the end, your simpleton of a husband who showed me the error of my ways. Your place was never at my side, and I suspect it is not at his side, either, though he is fool enough to believe otherwise. You were intended for far greater things. Your father—and perhaps mine—knew this and kept you from me. Now Fate conspires to do the same, and this time, I will not curse it, for Fate is far wiser than I can ever hope to be. _

_When I was a young boy, people would say I resembled my mother. I did not understand it then, but I fear they have been proved right at the last. For I am as black-hearted and cruel as she ever was, but, unlike her, I am not fortunate enough to be graced with an early death. _

_I go east now to aid the Sultan's generals in legal maneuvers against the infidel Richard. I do not know if either victory or peace is in my future, and I no longer care. My last and most fervent prayer is for your eternal happiness, wherever Fate takes you and whatever hand you choose to hold. Be happy, Saffiyah, for that is your destiny. _

_Ever yours, _

_Nasim ibn Bassam al-Akkari_

--

Will picked at his food and watched Djaq out of the corner of his eye. They were sitting in the courtyard, eating and enjoying a rare respite from the blistering heat. Saladin's forces had amassed in great numbers not far from Bassam's property, as they moved closer to the city by the hour. Bassam was in the process of evacuating the house and moving south, out of the path of the expected siege. Much of the household goods and a large group of servants and retainers had already left. But Djaq had not been ready to leave, so they had stayed, promising Bassam they would leave for the south when he did.

Djaq had been odd lately. It was not just the mixture of sadness and anger she felt over the events of the past few weeks. Those emotions, at least, Will could understand, since they mirrored his perfectly. But Djaq seemed listless and withdrawn, almost like a different person sometimes. Although she spoke to him as always and kept him company for much of the day, Will had a feeling she was keeping something from him, even after everything they had been through.

Will was keeping his own secrets, of course. He had not intended to keep her in the dark about his conversation with Nasim, but when it came time to tell all, he could not quite do it. It did not seem right to give Djaq more bad news, to make her endure again the pain of betrayal by someone she cherished. There had been enough of that in her life already, and on reflection, Will decided there were some things Djaq was better off not knowing.

He had never really considered how complicated life in Acre was going to be. He had expected danger, of course. He was an Englishman—a Christian—living among Saracens and danger was simply a fact of life for him. But he had not expected the other things, those that came of trying to be an honest man in a dishonest world, a man who did not care about power, surrounded by men who thought about nothing else. Not for the first time, he wished he was as clever as some other men. Men like Allan. _Allan..._

Will sighed, as old memories as sharp as the stab of a new knife assailed him. Djaq caught the sound and looked up at him in surprise. That was when he noticed the unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

He reached out and touched her face. "Djaq, are you...?"

She covered his hand with her own, but after a moment, she slid away. Will watched in confusion as she reached into her pocket and retrieved a piece of folded parchment.

"This letter came...two days ago. A messenger brought it."

He took the letter from her. It was a bit crumpled and starting to wrinkle at the corners, a sure sign that Djaq had read it many times over. He turned the parchment over, not the least bit surprised to find Nasim's red wax seal on the other side. He sighed and handed it back to her.

"Do you not want me to read it to you?" she asked, her voice an odd mixture of hope and regret.

He shook his head. "No, I know who it's from. I can guess what it says."

She nodded and looked away, and a moment later, she tore the letter into tiny pieces and flung them aside. She made a strangled sound and then fell to her knees beside him, sobbing.

"Oh, Will...I am so sorry."

He pulled her up and on to his lap. "No, shh, shh. You don't have to be sorry." He held her close and stroked her hair for a long time, trying to offer her whatever comfort she sought. Eventually, the wrenching sobs ebbed away, replaced by tiny whimpers and jagged breathing as Djaq came back to her usual self.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. Then, on impulse, he trailed his hand over her neck and into the collar of her tunic, encouraged by the steady rhythm of her heart under his fingertips.

She gasped and moved closer, whispering in his ear. "Someone might see."

"I don't care," he said, mumbling the words against her neck. "I don't care about any of them any more. Just you. Only you."

--


	20. Chapter 20: Siege

_A/N: This chapter includes both explicit sexual content and depictions of battlefield violence. However, neither of these things is of the very graphic variety, at least from my perspective. Your speed may vary._

_Many thanks to Wenrom31, who did a terrific job reading (and understanding) my first draft! :)_

**Siege**

_Bassam's house_

Mid-January 1195

Djaq yawned, stretching her arms and attempting to free her legs from the mad tangle of limbs and sheets in Will's bed. But after making a half-hearted effort to get out of bed, she gave up and snuggled closer to Will's sleeping form. She kissed his shoulder, making him murmur in his sleep.

He stirred and ran a languid hand over her form, fingers raising goose bumps on her skin as they traveled from Djaq's shoulders to her legs and back up again. She sighed in pleasure and pressed her lips to his mouth. His answering kiss was soft but demanding, so she gave herself up to it, smiling against his lips.

Will broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm still asleep, you know."

She laughed. "That is because you are very lazy." She could not remember when she had been this happy. The events of the past few months had changed them. They had been broken by circumstance, but then remade in new form. Whatever dark curtain had shielded them from one another had finally been lifted, and they learned to know each other as never before. It was joy of the sort she had never hoped for, and Djaq reveled in it.

She kissed Will again and let her hands and lips wander over his chest and stomach, enjoying the way his heartbeat sped up in response. Her fingers made contact with a rough spot, a large stretch of puckered skin that marked the place a Saracen blade had cruelly cut into his flesh. She ran the tip of her finger over the edge of the scar, and for a moment, her perfect happiness was clouded. _He nearly died, and his only fault was that he loved me. _Tears threatened, but before they could fall, Will cupped her face in his hand and stroked her cheek with a calloused thumb. "No."

He did not elaborate;he did not need to. They had never spoken explicitly of what happened, but they both understood there was really nothing of importance left to say. They had suffered, but they had found each other, and that was enough.

She sank her head on to his chest, and for a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke. It was Will who broke the silence. "What shall we do today?"

She giggled in response and cuddled against him. "More of this, I think?"

"What? This?" He ghosted a hand over her stomach and sides, fingers moving in slow, lazy circles over her skin, lips following hotly behind. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, and she whimpered as he bent his head and ran his tongue over her nipple.

"Yes, just that."

Djaq looped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. She pushed herself against him as her need mounted and pooled in her stomach, delicious and molten. He hovered over her, his own desire now obvious, his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her hungrily. Will's fingers trailed over her thighs and up to her hips as he shifted against her. His lips dragged over her mouth, her neck, her shoulders, any patch of skin he could find. He slid his hands back down over her body, stroking up the inside of her thigh, and when he finally touched her, all conscious thought left her. She moaned and bit her lip, wrapping a leg around his waist as she tried to press closer. He gave a low grunt in response, and his fingers left her when he settled against her and kissed her fiercely. She pulled at him, desire and anticipation overwhelming her patience. "Will, please."

Will ran a hand over the outside of her hip, hitching himself against her. She grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him hard. He broke the kiss and gazed at her, eyes unfocused and breath coming hard. Finally after what felt to her like an eternity, he pressed into her. She gasped at the contact, her mouth going soft against his as he kissed her. They moved together, slowly at first, tension building as they shifted, changed, became one. He whispered in her ear, and though she had no idea what he said, it was enough to send her hurtling over the edge. Djaq cried out and arched into him, taking ragged breaths against his shoulder. He let her ride out her pleasure, but after a few moments, it all became too much for him. He buried his face in her neck and let out a long groan, breath shuddering on her skin as he collapsed against her.

They held each other until their hearts slowed, muscles still twitching in remembered pleasure. She sighed and took his face in her hands again, kissing him softly. "I love you."

He kissed the palm of her hand and wrapped his arms around her as tightly as possible. "I know."

--000--

_Two days later_

Bassam's house was a beehive of activity. The few servants still left hurried from room to room, emptying the contents into wooden trunks and carriers. They were leaving for the south, away from the Crusaders and Saladin's armies. The plan was to travel in small groups, to avoid attracting too much attention, and to take as few things as possible. Much of Bassam's most precious belongings had already been carted away in the previous weeks, either moved to his estate in the south or sold to the highest bidder.

The Saracen armies had finally marched into the city the previous night, taking cover in the darkness and waging small pitched battles with the Crusaders in the streets. Although Saladin was encamped not far from the house, the battle had not yet come to them. But it was only a matter of time before they were in the thick of it, and both Bassam and Djaq were determined to be long gone by that time.

For his part, Will was prepared for any journey. He had few belongings anyhow—a few clothes, both Saracen and English, his tools, a bound book of parchment Djaq had given him to draw in with charcoal, and finally his weapons. It had taken less than half an hour for him to gather his things, and afterwards, not knowing what to do with himself, he had just taken his things and headed off to Djaq's rooms.

She was busy preparing pouches of herbs and medication, not only for the journey, but also for their life in the south. He watched as she filled some of the compartments in Barkhat's old apothecary chest, a frown on her face as she dumped out an odd looking brown powder.

"Why are you throwing that out?"

She did not look at him when she answered. "I do not think I will—we will—ever need it again."

He shrugged and fell silent, gearing himself up to say the thing that was really on his mind.

"Djaq...I really think you should go today. With the others."

She gave him a sharp look. "No. I will stay and leave when you and Bassam _ammo_ do." She stuffed a few herbs into a cloth pouch, shoving a bit more violently than needed.

"I just..." He took a deep breath, knowing she would be upset with him. "It will just be...safer for you to go now."

"Is it safer for you?" she snapped. "You were nearly killed the last time you were out on your own!"

"I..." He shook his head, not sure what to say.

Her expression softened, and she came to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "It would be too difficult for me. To go away and not know if you were alright."

He held her close and kissed her hair. "I know. I don't even know what I'm saying. If you went without me, I'd be half gone with worry already."

She laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest. He chuckled, glad she seemed so happy these days. That brought something else to mind, and he pulled away a little so he could see her face.

"You know, Bassam asked me something yesterday." He gave her a searching look. "He wanted to know if there was...any reason you couldn't travel."

She frowned in confusion and then colored a little as his meaning became apparent. "Um...no, nothing like that." The smile left her face abruptly, though, and she pulled away from him, trailing her fingers over her stomach.

"Do you ever worry about that, Will? That we don't—?"

He pulled her quickly back into his arms. "No. There's nothing to worry about. It will happen when it happens. I promise."

She seemed satisfied with that and nuzzled his chest for a bit, her breath soft against the fabric of his shirt. Djaq's touch warmed him, and his thoughts began to head in a completely different direction. He bent his head to kiss her, when a loud knock on the door startled them both.

"_Ya sayyidati_." It was Faisal, and although Will liked the man, he cursed him for his terrible timing. "Lord Bassam wants to see you right away. In the aviary."

Djaq gave him an apologetic smile. "He will want help with the birds, to prepare them for the trip." She grinned. "But I will be back soon."

He leered at her. "And I'll be right here."

--000--

Djaq ran into the aviary, expecting some sort of crisis, but stopped short at the sight of Bassam calmly taking a bird out of its cage and soothing its feathers.

He had a knack with the pigeons that Djaq simply could not match. Over the years, he had become a bit like the birds himself, round and warm, and even the birds seemed to recognize him as a friend rather than a handler. But it was a lonely way for a man to spend the sunset of his life, and Djaq's heart ached for him. He was too kind to be surrounded by so much war and loss. _Maybe this journey south will do him good._

He looked up and caught her eye. "Ah, Saffiyah. It is good that you are here now. There are messages to send."

"Messages, _ammo_? Still? I thought we were leaving?"

Bassam shook his head. "Two birds are still out. We will wait for their return and then leave." He waved her in the direction of the box where he kept all the messages. "Besides, the Sultan still needs his information, even in the midst of battle."

She nodded and sat down to write out the messages. It was painstaking work, thanks to the cipher Bassam had developed, exchanging one letter for another and making the message impossible to read if it fell into the wrong hands. A few minutes on, Djaq was so absorbed in the task she did not realize Bassam was speaking to her.

"I said, I should thank Will for making all these wooden carriers. They will be very useful on the journey."

She nodded. "He has not had much to do these past weeks. It helped keep him busy, at least for a few days."

"And I see you have been keeping busy as well."

Djaq caught the odd tone of his voice and raised an eyebrow in question.

He gave her a sharp look and then produced a sheaf of documents. "These came for you yesterday."

Djaq took the papers from him, confused. A quick scan revealed they were the same documents she had left with Nasim months ago, the documents granting her lands and money in Aleppo. Nasim had sent them over before he left, his seal affixed to the bundle. _Nasim..._

Painful thoughts lanced through her mind, even as she tried to push them away so she could address Bassam's suspicion about her activities.

"I am sorry, _ammo_. I never meant for you to—"

"You never meant for me to know you were visiting _him_ behind my back?"

Djaq bristled. "I had no idea the extent to which—"

Bassam held up a hand, stopping her. "It does not matter, Saffiyah. I am not angry...although I am a little disappointed."

He put a finger to the bridge of his nose. "I do not mean to be harsh, only to caution you.

"There are things you are not aware of...about him. And I think it best if you keep your distance."

_Oh, ammo...it is far too late for that!_

Djaq's distress began to grow, and she considered telling Bassam everything that had happened. But she was stopped by the look on his face, the one that spoke not only of anger and reproach, but also of melancholy and loneliness. It would be cruel to leave Bassam with no chance of a future reconciliation with his own son. Djaq set the documents on the desk and resolved never to speak to Bassam about Nasim. Some secrets were worth keeping.

"Thank you for letting me know, _ammo_. I shall remember your concern for me always."

He smiled genially, his anger of a few moments before apparently gone. "As I shall remember the aid you have given me over the last months. You and Will both."

He laughed. "I never thought I would thank an Englishman for his kindness." He winked at Djaq. "But he is _our_ Englishman, after all."

--000--

They sat quietly in the salon, doors to the courtyard wide open to let in air, and more importantly, so each of them could keep a surreptitious eye on the outside. They were finally ready to leave Acre, perhaps forever.

Will fingered the blade of his hatchet, relieved to be armed and ready, especially as Djaq had no weapons save the knife in her sleeve. She sat very close to him, smoothing the fabric of her skirts, but not speaking. Bassam, too, was unusually quiet, a sheathed sword at his side. Seeing Bassam with a blade had surprised Will, but Djaq said he had been a soldier of some note in his younger days, and Will had demurred, allowing she probably knew better than he did.

A small group of servants had left for the south earlier in the day, taking their families with them. Only two pigeon handlers—both women—a stable hand, and Faisal remained behind. Faisal's wife and his two sons had refused to leave without him, so they, too, were still in the house.

"We should eat." It was Djaq's voice that cut through the silence. "It is best to travel well fed, for I do not think we can really carry all our food stores with us." Her voice was light, even humorous, but Will could see she was troubled by having to leave.

_She's leaving home again...so many times_. His heart ached for her, and without really thinking about it, he reached out and took her hand. Bassam caught the gesture and smiled at Will, an unspoken agreement to keep her safe passing between them.

Bassam stood up suddenly. "Yes, let us eat." He called out to nobody in particular. "Have something brought for us. Bread and fruit. They won't keep anyway." Faisal nodded and headed off in the direction of the kitchens, muttering to himself.

Will pointed at the crude map Bassam had drawn on a piece of parchment. "How long will it take to get there?"

Bassam scratched his chin thoughtfully. "If we ride hard, probably a day. But with children and the goods, it will be slow." He traced a finger along the coastline in the map. "Two days, three at the most."

Will nodded and was about to ask a different question, when a loud clatter made them all startle. Faisal had dropped the food-laden tray he was carrying, a horror-stricken look on his face.

"Torches," gasped Djaq. "Outside the gates."

Will raced to the windows to take a better look and then turned back to her, face grim. "Crusaders."

Bassam looked horrified, but Djaq just nodded, as if she had been expecting it all along. "How many?"

"I don't know. Six. No, ten." It was eerily similar to the last time he and Djaq had been inside a building, getting ready to face a much larger force, but that did nothing to calm Will's jangling nerves. As far as he knew, it was never a good day to die.

"But why are they coming here?" Will looked back and forth between Djaq and Bassam, trying to understand. "Saladin's soldiers are already in the city, aren't they?"

"They're probably looters. They're here for money," said Djaq, her words laced with scorn.

Bassam stood up suddenly. "No, they're here for my birds!" He raced off in the direction of the aviary. Djaq began to chase after Bassam, but stopped suddenly, turning to Will.

"A sword. I need a sword."

He handed her his sword belt, frowning in confusion. She unsheathed the weapon and dropped the belt as she headed to the aviary.

"Djaq, wait!"

"No. You stay here."

"What? No, I'm coming with you!"

She gave him an exasperated look. "No, Will. Listen to me. There are women in the house, children. They have nobody to protect them." Her voice was desperate. "They'll die in this, just like before. Don't you see?

"Go now." She gave him a shove in the other direction. "Help them. I beg you."

He tried to think of something to say, but decided against it. He gave her a quick nod and headed off to the back of the house.

--000--

Djaq bounded up the narrow stairs in the back of the house, hoping to beat any attackers to the aviary. Bassam had gone around the front way, which would have taken longer anyway. Her heart pounded, but adrenaline banished her fear, and her legs and sword hand seemed to remember instinctively what to do.

She tried to keep track of doors and windows she passed along the long corridor leading to a second flight of stairs up to the aviary. She needed to make sure there was no way the Crusaders could get away, but she also needed to leave an escape route for herself.

She pasted herself against a wall, ducking her head around the corner to see if anyone was coming. The house was built to be a summer residence, with little thought given to defense. The windows all opened to the outside, and any one of them could be used to enter the house. It was all too easy, and they should have seen it coming. She shook her head. There was no time for regrets, only action.

The sound of clanking armor warned her, and Djaq readied for the onslaught. She slowed her breathing to match her attacker's footsteps. One, two, three beats, and he was there, the attacking Crusader. Djaq hacked blindly at him, and he saw her too late, long after her sword had cut his arm in two. His shriek of pain was matched only by her yell of triumph.

Djaq pulled her sword out cleanly as the man toppled over. He tried to get back up, staring in horror at his twitching arm lying across the floor. She kicked it away and laughed, and finally, when the madness of battle overtook her, she plunged her sword into his heart. She bent over the man and spoke in a malevolent whisper. "That was for my father. May you rot in Hell."

She began to run, fueled by the thrill of having dispatched her attacker so easily. As she made for the second set of stairs, she was so lost in the heat of battle that she never saw the booted foot coming at her.

--000--

Will ran down the long corridors of the house to the small rooms at the back where the servants lived, with little idea where he was going to find them. His first thought was simply to herd them all out of the house and to safety, but the place was crawling with Crusaders, their white tunics bright against the night sky.

He swung open the door to one room, but found it empty, and this happened two more times before he finally found the people he was looking for. The two remaining pigeon handlers startled out of their beds and stared at him, clad only in their night shifts.

One girl looked at Will in shock, covering herself for modesty, while the other hurled abuses in his direction.

He shook his head. "No time to explain, we're being attacked." He grabbed the arm of the nearest girl and began to run, but she struggled out of his grasp, looking terrified.

They could not understand him, and, in his frantic state, he could not muster enough Arabic to explain. So he simply pointed outside. "_Al-franj_." He flashed his hand at them twice. "Ten."

Comprehension finally dawned. The girl whose hand he had grabbed nodded at him, pulled her companion to her feet and raced out of the room ahead of Will. They had barely gone ten feet when she turned out and signaled with her hand to ask where they were going.

Will spoke without really thinking about it. "Kitchens." He pointed in the general direction, and the girl seemed to understand.

She nodded and quickly turned the corner, yanking the other girl after her. Will followed, axe at the ready and keeping his eyes out for attackers.

On reflection, he decided the kitchens were the safest place in the house. They were on a lower level, almost a cellar, and if the Crusaders were in fact only in search of Bassam's birds, they would not bother with this part of the house. Unless...women were always targets, especially for soldiers. Will shuddered at the thought, and his blood ran cold. _Oh, lord...Djaq!_

He nearly turned and ran in the other direction, but stopped short when he remembered Djaq at least had a weapon. She was a soldier and one of Robin Hood's men. She would know what to do. These women had nothing;they were counting on him. _I'm sorry, love. Be careful. _

They bounded into the kitchens, only to find Faisal's wife and two sons already there, sitting at the table and talking quietly. She stood in shock at the sight of Will, axe in hand, trailing the two scantily clad pigeon handlers into the room.

"What is the meaning of this?"

He gaped at her, surprised she spoke English, but decided he had no time to be curious. Will started to shut the kitchen doors, but they were enormous and would not budge. He strained against the door, thinking it had been decades since anyone had closed it. Seeing his struggle, the less timid of the two pigeon handlers came over to help him. She pushed at the door as he lifted with his shoulder, and eventually, it began to move.

"What are you doing?" Faisal's wife cut into his efforts. "It is very improper. A strange man in a closed room with women. With unwed women!"

He turned to her, eyes narrowed. "I think that's the least of your problems. We're being attacked."

"What?!" She gave him a look of abject panic. "Where is...my husband? He's not—" She pulled her sons closer, and the boys cowered at the sight of Will.

"Faisal is...he's helping Lord Bassam."

She did not seem satisfied with the answer, but she said no more, still looking horrified. The other pigeon handler moved closer to her, seeking shelter.

Will tried to bar the door, but the crossbar would not fit. The wood had expanded over the years, and it was now too thick to slide through the iron slats on the inside of the door.

The pigeon handler was struggling against it, beating her fists on the wood to force it through, her skin now raw and bloody from the effort.

"Stop that. You'll hurt yourself." She kept at it, not comprehending Will's words, so he grabbed her hand and pushed her away gently.

He slid his hatchet out of his belt, thinking he would hack away a bit of the crossbar to get it to fit. The wood was soft, just starting to rot, so the blade bit into it perfectly, making it easy to chip away at it.

He tossed his dagger to the girl. She caught it and smiled, understanding what he wanted and copying his motions. It took several minutes, but they managed to shave off just enough wood to make the crossbar drop into place.

The girl gave him a victorious smile as he slid the crossbar home.

"You're very brave. What's your name?"

He got only a frown in response and realized he was still speaking in English. He pointed at her. "_Masmuk_?"

"Ah". She tapped herself with a finger. "Rahima."

"Very good, Rahima." He did not care he was still speaking in English. It hardly mattered what he was saying anyhow, but the girl was bearing up really well, given their circumstances. Will was impressed.

Rahima's efforts seemed to spur the others into action. Faisal's wife began to drag the large table across the floor to prop up against the door, and soon, they had barricaded themselves inside the kitchen. The boys giggled, caught somewhere between terror and enjoyment.

Will put a finger to his lips, shushing them. Rahima gave him an odd look and then wet her fingers and pressed them to the wick of the oil lamp closest to her. Everyone else caught on fast and put out the lamps, plunging the room into darkness. Only a tiny sliver of moonlight through the window lit them now.

"I have to go." He walked towards the window, with the intention of jumping out and finding Djaq and Bassam.

Faisal's wife balked. "You cannot go. You have to stay here with us."

"I can't stay. I need to find...the others. You'll be alright here.

"Do you have weapons?" He pointed at his own sleeve, and Faisal's wife responded by sliding her knife out of her robes. Rahima tightened her grip on the dagger and nodded.

The other girl looked miserable and frightened as she ran off to the back of the kitchens. Will barely had time to figure out what she was up to before she returned, holding a giant meat cleaver in her hands.

She was tiny, and her entire frame was shaking with fear, but she looked determined.

Will fought down the urge to laugh at her. "Do you know how to use that?"

The girl said something in rapid-fire Arabic, prompting Will to look at Faisal's wife for explanation.

She smiled at Will. "She says her father is a butcher."

Will grinned. "Very good."

He swung a leg over the windowsill. "Be brave." He nodded at Rahima. "Keep everyone quiet. Keep them safe. I'll be back, I promise."

--000--

Djaq's head was wrenched back as rough hands grabbed her by the collar and pulled her back down the stairs.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Her attacker twisted her arm until she dropped the sword and then shoved her roughly to the ground.

"Unhand me, you filth."

The man leered at her. "What's this now? You're a girl!" He raked his eyes over Djaq's figure, prompting her to cover herself with her arms.

"Yes, a girl. More shame for you when you die at my hands."

The man laughed and pulled his fist back as if to hit her, but he seemed to change his mind at the last minute. He pulled her up and gripped her shoulders painfully. Djaq opened her mouth to scream, hoping to alert the others, but her attacker was clever enough to clamp a heavily gloved hand over her mouth.

He pulled her into a dark room and pushed her up against the wall. She tore at him, kicking and struggling, but he was too strong for her, and when she tried to get her knife out of her sleeve, he pinned her arms to the wall. She pushed her knee hard between his legs, but she missed as he moved to the side.

"Oh, you've got spirit, eh? I like that." He pressed himself roughly against her as his hands pinned hers to the wall. He tore at the collar of her dress with his teeth, the fabric making a sickening sound as it ripped. His breath was a horrible stench against her face, and Djaq's stomach threatened, even as her spirit weakened. _No, Allah, not this_.

Her attacker pawed at her, his hands like hooks tearing into her soul, taking her dignity. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to shut off her mind. She prayed to lose consciousness, so her soul would not know the violation of her body. The words came to her as naturally as breath..._Allah is great, there is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is His messenger...Allah is great, there is no God..._

A powerful clang of metal broke into her thoughts. A hiss of air later, her attacker's grip on her arm loosened and she heard the thud of a body hitting the floor. She opened her eyes to the sight of Will hovering over the Crusader's body, hacking him to death with his axe.

She tried to clear her throat, but her voice was gone, broken. She could not muster any words, so she simply reached out for him, collapsing into his arms.

Will looked at her in utter horror and then pulled her tightly to him. "It's alright, it's alright." His words echoed in the room, too hollow for either of them to believe.

She croaked out a few words, trying to keep her tears—her traitorous womanly frailty—at bay. He did not seem to hear, still holding her fast to his chest. His arms shook, and she knew he was terrified.

"Ba...Bassam. We have to find him."

Will looked at her for a moment, not comprehending, but then he nodded, slowly coming back to himself. "But I don't want to leave you here. Not like this."

She looked at him, unable to speak enough to ask the proper questions. He seemed to understand. "There were two others. I took care of them." He shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I think they're gone. I don't hear anymore."

She nodded and tried to stand, but her knees were like water, and she fell back onto the ground. Will grabbed her and held her up, exposing the torn state of her clothing. She cried out and covered herself with her arms, her shame so great it felt like she was buried under it.

Will pulled off his tunic and wrapped it around her shoulders, the simple gesture making her want to cry even as she was grateful for it. He reached out and cupped her cheek, forcing her to look into his eyes. In their depths, she saw powerful anger but also deep sympathy, a great pain he was bearing for her sake. She nodded and moved his hand away.

He helped her up and eased his arms under her shoulders, practically carrying her out of the room. "Where?"

She pointed weakly in the direction of the stairs, and they made their way slowly, Djaq unable to climb very fast. She was unarmed now, and worry they would be attacked again began to pick at her brain. Will too was wary, his body stiff with tension as he checked for hidden danger.

Smoke billowed out from the top of the stairs, black and noxious, but nothing else stirred. Djaq coughed as the charred air entered her lungs. Beside her, Will struggled for breath, the exertion of carrying her up the steps through the smoke proving almost too great a challenge for him. It was deathly hot in this part of the house, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the crackling of a still-raging fire. She closed her eyes, and despair clawed at her. It was just like before, when the Crusaders had come. They took her father, they took her home, and they took the only life she had ever known. And now they were about to do it again. They were about to leave her helpless and alone in the world.

She opened her eyes. No, this time, she was not alone. She had Will. She took in his face, angry and tired, and fresh determination seized her. She pulled at his arm on her shoulder, prompting him to climb the stairs again. She buried her face in the fabric of his sleeve, keeping the smoke at bay, and pushing her worry at his every racking cough to the back of her mind.

At the top of the stairs, she wrenched free of Will's grasp and launched herself down the corridor to the aviary. The stone floor burned her bare feet, but she ignored the pain. She was going to save Bassam, as Will had saved her. It would not be like it had been before.

She ran through the door of the aviary and straight into Faisal. The man looked miserable, and as she followed the line of his sight, she learned why. The aviary was gutted, cages broken and burned, some of the poor birds baked alive in their cages. A Crusader lay dead, his face buried in the floor, a gaping knife wound in his back, and just a few feet away was Bassam.

She sank to her knees. _No, it could not be_. Instinct took over, and she reached out two fingers to check for a pulse. But there was no reassuring beat under her fingers, only silence. She collapsed onto the floor, utterly defeated. She had the sense Faisal was speaking, but his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance.

"They had already begun to fire the place when I got here. Four of them." He made a strangled sound, his voice choked with emotion. "My lord never had a chance. Those poor birds never had a chance."

Djaq began to cry.

--000--

It took Will only a few minutes to make it up the stairs and to the aviary, but it felt like an eternity. He was almost certain there were no more Crusaders, but he did not want any surprises. He kept his hand on his axe and tried to make his way quietly down the corridor. But the smoky air seared his lungs, and he could not keep the coughing at bay.

He had been terrified to find Djaq earlier, but he had no recollection of how he dispatched the beast attacking her. He only knew he had to save her. _If I'd been even a few minutes late..._He shivered and closed his eyes, unable to contemplate the horror that would have befallen his love.

He was reasonably certain Bassam and Faisal were both dead. There was no way they could have fought off a group of Crusaders that large, no matter how skilled they each were with weapons. Guilt stabbed at him. _I should have been here, I should have been helping._

He trudged slowly to the aviary, the smoke blacker and thicker as he got closer. The smell in the air was acrid and horrible, and he knew long before he saw the carnage that all the birds were dead. But though he guessed Bassam was gone, the sight of Djaq sobbing over his dead body was too much for Will. He screamed like an animal and drove his axe hard into the door post, the wood splintering violently. The world was cruel; men were cruel; God was cruel. No, that was wrong.

There was no God.

--000--

Djaq opened her eyes slowly and immediately put an arm up to shield them. Sunlight poured through the windows in the aviary, the rays sharp and painful. She looked around her, at the debris and wreckage, and wished it would all go away. She told herself it was not real. She closed her eyes, willing it to be a dream, a horrible vision conjured by her subconscious. But when she opened her eyes again, it was all still there, blackened and daunting.

Faisal was still there too, sitting motionless by Bassam's body. His eyes were bloodshot, and Djaq was certain he had not slept. Will stood vigil in the doorway, pale and tired.

He noticed she was awake and gestured towards the window. "Doesn't seem right somehow. It feels like the sun shouldn't come up."

She nodded dully but said nothing. The sun always did come up, because that was the way of things. The world went on, in its way, no matter what cruelties individual men suffered. It was both a disturbing thought and an oddly comforting one. Tomorrow would be another day, after all.

"We cannot stay here, Will."

He nodded. "I know. We should just go south. Like Bassam wanted."

"No, Will. We can't stay here anymore. Nobody wants us here. They will never let us be. We have to go away."

He looked at her in surprise, opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again, in obvious hesitation. "Away?" His voice had just a tremor of hope in it, making Djaq smile in spite of herself.

"Yes. Away. Back home. To England."

--


	21. Chapter 21: Sight

_Sorry for the long delay in getting this chapter posted. Contrary to suspicion, I'm still writing this story. I just took a short break to dabble in a bit of original fiction, and now I'm turning my attention back to Will and Djaq. _

_Many thanks to Wenrom31 for her insightful comments and her excellent beta work. Any mistakes are mine, not hers. _

**Chapter 20. Sight**

_Reims, France_

Mid-May 1216

"It is marvelous, isn't it?" Daniel flattened his hands against the wet stone of the cathedral wall and looked up in awe. The church window had the most brilliant stone tracery he had ever seen. There was a large roundel at the centre with spokes like a wheel, and this was surrounded by a ring of small stone scallops making a sort of border. He ran a finger along the edge of the chisel in his toolbelt, his mind already conjuring new shapes for the stone.

The sound of a gentle cough behind him brought Daniel back to himself. Ayesha watched him through a veil of rain, brow knit in confusion.

"You don't find it beautiful?" he asked, trying to keep his disappointment hidden.

"I suppose." Ayesha shrugged. "It is a church...a place where Christians worship."

Daniel let out an exasperated sigh. They had arrived in Reims the previous night, and he had told her immediately that he wanted to work at the construction site for the cathedral. She had been appalled and they had rowed, at first trying to shout each other down and then simply choosing not to speak. The impasse had ended only when Ayesha had stormed off into the rainy night, and he'd had to chase after her to make sure she was safe. He had a sense they were fighting because they were both hungry and tired, and as that situation had not changed, he was in no mood to revisit the debate.

"Fine. It does not matter what you think anyhow." He stalked off, ignoring the rain sheeting off his hood.

Her shoes squelched as she trotted to keep pace with him. After a few minutes, she grabbed his elbow to stop him.

Daniel balked at the unexpected contact and drew his arm away instantly. He was about to snap at her when he noticed her forlorn expression.

Ayesha's voice was small when she finally spoke. "I am sorry. About last night." She wrung her hands together. "You must think me a shrew."

He sighed. "No. I think there's a great deal about the world you do not understand." He gave her a wan smile. "Come, we'll find something to eat."

They walked in the direction of the town square, looking for food and some shelter from the driving rain. They made their way slowly, side-stepping puddles and mud whenever they could. Daniel glanced at Ayesha out of the corner of his eye, and his heart sank at the sight.

The fine clothes she had worn when they left Cordoba were looking much worse for the wear. The hem of her dress was in tatters, and the rich color of her surcoat was beginning to bleed into the tunic she wore underneath. She wore no cloak or hood and tiny rivulets of rain poured off her hair onto her shoulders.

Ayesha looked miserable, but she had made no complaints so far. She ate whatever food he brought her, and she said nothing about the weather or about sleeping in fields and barns, and sometimes even outside churches.

A week ago, she had given him two thin silver bangles from her wrists to sell so they would have money for food and shelter. He had refused at first, but she had insisted, forcing him to accept the things. He had reluctantly taken them to market, but at the last minute, he could not bring himself to sell them, her last possessions of value. So he pocketed the bangles and sold his tooth chisel instead. He would not add to her indignity in any way, if he could help it.

"Look, over there." Ayesha pointed to a small house in the distance. "They're selling pies."

He heard the exhaustion in her voice, but it was edged with genuine enthusiasm, so he chuckled and quickened his step towards the building, but he slowed his stride as he got close enough to see it was an alehouse.

"I...I don't think we should go there, Ayesha."

"Why not?" She gave him a pleading look.

"It's an alehouse."

She rolled her eyes. "I do not care. I am cold and wet and so are you." She pulled at his cloak, urging him on. "We just will not drink the ale, that is all."

It was hard to argue with that sort of logic, so he let it go, hoping there would be no women—or men, for that matter—of ill repute there. Daniel also prayed there would be enough people in the alehouse that he and Ayesha could slip in and out unnoticed. He did not like having to answer questions unnecessarily.

Fortunately for him, the place was so busy that hardly anyone took note of either Daniel or his exotic companion. He bought a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese and set them on to the table in front of Ayesha. "The pies were gone. Sorry."

Ayesha nodded and began cutting the bread into small pieces and dividing them into piles. It had been her idea to ration out the food so they would have enough to travel on, especially when they walked for hours without seeing a town or a village. It showed a practical side to Ayesha, and he was glad for that, but to see her hungry saddened him deeply.

Daniel chewed his food thoughtfully, wondering what he was going to do with her in the end. He could not take her to his ultimate destination, that much was certain. Ayesha had no knowledge of his true mission, and it was probably too dangerous for her anyway. But he could not leave her alone in the middle of France either, unattended and unable to survive. His mind conjured up various solutions to the problem, and soon, he became lost in thought.

"Why do you find it so beautiful?" Ayesha's voice broke into his thoughts, but he could not quite understand what she was asking.

Daniel frowned at her and she laughed at his confusion.

"The church. If you wish me to understand what you see in it, you must explain it to me first."

He joined in her laughter. "That's fair. But I think it will be too complicated."

Ayesha smirked. "I have some learning, you know. There is a small chance I might understand."

Daniel raised an eyebrow at her, enjoying the chance to just talk without having to snipe at her, or being sniped at in return.

"So what have you studied that you think you're so learned? Philosophy? Poetry?"

Ayesha gave him a challenging look, but when he did not back down, she simply shrugged. "Science, a bit of mathematics."

"Ah, everyone learns those things. You have to be more specific."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Would you know the difference, if I were more specific?"

Daniel feigned being hurt. "Do you think I'm an unlettered brute then?"

"No, no...of course not!" She looked stricken until it became clear he was only teasing. She laughed and added, "I suspect you have as much learning as any stone carver."

The way she said the words made Daniel bristle, and the levity of a moment ago disappeared. "I'm not really a stone carver, you know. And I am learned."

She gave him a sharp look. "You hardly speak of yourself. There is no way for me to know what you do not tell." She sighed and softened her stance a little. "Tell me what you've studied then."

"Oh, the same as most people. Philosophy, rhetoric, astronomy.

"But when I was fourteen, I was sent to study in Baghdad, with a man called Kamal al-Din ibn Yunus. He taught me geometry...the teachings of al-Mu'taman, Euclid. About the golden proportion.

"Mostly though, he taught me about buildings...about how every building was beautiful in itself. He showed me how you could reduce even the most magnificent thing to just shapes laid one on top of the other.

"And here, in France, they're building the most fascinating churches, with new ideas about windows and arches, flying buttresses..."

He let his voice trail off as awe over what he had seen earlier in the day caught up with him. Ayesha was watching him with a blank expression, clearly not sharing his enthusiasm. When he caught her eye, she frowned.

"Is that why you came to Cordoba? To my father? To...build things?"

"No. That just...happened." Daniel was not sure how much of his story he wanted to tell her, but she was putting up with so much for his sake. She deserved at least some honesty from him.

"I told you...I ran away." Her gaze was intense and questioning, forcing him to look away as he gathered his thoughts.

"I traveled a long way, and found myself in Venice. A man I met there was a stone carver, and he taught me a few things.

"And when he left to go find work in Al-Andalus, I went with him." Daniel shrugged, ending his story in a matter-of-fact way.

"Why did you run away?"

He said nothing, determined not to answer any more questions.

She gave him a look of exasperation. "Very well. You do not have to answer that. But tell me why we are here.

"Surely there is enough for a stone carver to do in Cordoba. Why France? Why...churches?!"

Daniel sighed. "No, Ayesha...not this again."

"If you wish me to understand, you have to explain it properly."

"Fine." He conceded she deserved an explanation that would make sense to her, in her rigid way of thinking about Christians and Muslims. "Tell me, when you studied...what did you like best?"

She frowned. "Physics...optics, actually."

He gaped at her. It was unusual for girls to be educated in anything other than religion and philosophy, and sometimes—though rarely, as with his mother—medicine. "How did you come to study that?"

"My father did not think I had any particular talents a man would want. I cannot cook, I cannot sing, I am not much to look at." She smiled sadly at him, and he fought off the urge to tell Ayesha she was quite lovely.

"So he hoped I would attract the attention of a wealthy scholar. Or a poor stone carver with learning." She grinned at him, making Daniel laugh in response.

"So...optics, then. Like ibn Sahl's lenses? Like ibn al-Haytham?"

"Yes, exactly."

"And why did you like it so much?"

She answered without hesitation. "Because it is brilliant. Think of it. Who knew that you could focus light by bending it through a lens? That light travels in perfectly straight lines, or that it has more than one color? Who knew that..."

Ayesha caught herself and glared at him. "You tricked me..."

"Not really. I just needed to know if you'd seen the beauty of this world. Seen it properly."

She bowed her head in apparent concession. "Well played." She drummed a finger absently on the table before speaking again. "But it is not the same, is it?

"A lens is just...a thing. What happens with it is fascinating, but it says nothing about man or the way we live with others. Wars are not fought over lenses, after all.

"But a church is built to glorify the Christian God. People die for such things...do you understand?"

Daniel sighed. "A church is not beautiful because it glorifies God, Ayesha. It's beautiful because of its proportion, because of the lines and shapes that cross it. It's a reflection of the way man can perceive the world around him...and then add something to it himself." He shook his head, no longer certain he could make her see.

"Is that why you want to stay here? To work on the church, to...increase your knowledge of such things?"

"I..." He could not tell her he had no intention of staying, that he was already planning the next stage of his journey. "Yes, if someone will give me work."

"Then go find your work. I will keep myself occupied." She smiled at him. "I will try to find beauty in your churches. It will take a few days, I'm sure."

--000--

It was raining. Again. They had taken shelter in an abandoned barn just outside the town, and Ayesha watched the sky in misery, pulling her surcoat closed and trying to ward off the cold. The winter had been mild as they traveled with the pilgrims from Compostela, but spring had brought harsh winds and cold, driving rain to France. It was not just the rain either. Everything about this place, this Reims, town of churches and Christians, made Ayesha ache for Cordoba.

Daniel had been trying to find building work, ever since their conversation at the alehouse. But although it had been three days, he had not had any success. She was surprised at this at first. Ayesha knew that he was a carver of some skill, and what he lacked in experience, he certainly made up for in learning and enthusiasm. And yet, even though Daniel spent a few hours everyday speaking with the master builder, and with other merchants and craftsmen in town, nobody had given him a task to perform, or even asked him to assist with anything.

Ayesha wondered if they had guessed at Daniel's true nature. No matter what Daniel said about buildings and shapes and science, the truth was that men—even very learned ones—were only a step or two removed from their own petty prejudices. If the builders in Reims knew the young man wanting to work with them was a Saracen, they would never consider employing him.

But it was unlikely they had discovered Daniel's identity. She had watched him so closely for two years and been none the wiser, after all. It helped that he dressed and spoke as a Christian. At best, the French builders would mistake Daniel for a Spaniard, as she herself had, and he would find something to do soon, before his failure began to prick his pride.

Daniel's pride, however, was not the main reason she hoped he would find work soon. The day before, she had discovered a small hole in her shoe, and had tried to cover the whole with a flat pebble. It worked at first, keeping the rain water out, but after a day of walking, the stone had left the sole of her foot raw and chafed. Ayesha sighed and took off the shoe, shaking the pebble out and wondering if she could find a cobbler somewhere.

Not that she had any money to pay a cobbler. As soon as she had given Daniel her bangles to sell, she had regretted it. She suspected he had not bartered them anyway, as he was too proud to take her money or her valuables. Not for the first time, she wondered whether his reluctance to open up to her was because of this pride. Perhaps he was ashamed he could not keep her in the manner to which she was accustomed. If that was the case, she would have to reassure him somehow that she was not a pampered child, that she could make do with just about anything.

Besides, she did not like depending on him for everything—food, shelter, even clothing. At some point, Daniel's pride would have to give way to more practical considerations, after all.

If Daniel found work soon, they could stay on here, and she could make a home for them. It would be tiny, of course—nothing like her father's many houses all over Al-Andalus. She would have a garden where she would grow her own herbs and vegetables, and maybe keep a goat and some chickens. An image of Daniel chasing an errant animal around a field came to her, making her laugh until she was nearly in tears. It would be a simple life. There would be few luxuries, and she would have to trade the rich cloth and leather-bound books of her childhood for the coarse linens and hardy tools of a peasant. But it would be a fair exchange for a life of happiness.

In the meantime, she would need work of her own, a way to make at least enough money to repair her shoes or mend her clothes. One of the buttons on her surcoat had fallen off on the way to Reims, and she needed needle and thread to sew it back on. _Button?_ She dug into her pocket and her hand closed around an object, flat and metallic. She took it out and turned it over in her hand a few times. It was made of brass, the size of a coin and nearly as heavy. It would have value to someone. She pondered for a moment, and then took out her knife and starting cutting the buttons off her surcoat. If nothing more, it would pay for a cobbler.

--000--

Daniel listened in rapt attention as Jean D'Orbais, the master builder, described the wheel window Daniel had admired when he and Ayesha had first arrived in Reims.

"A few years ago, it wasn't possible to have windows like this." D'Orbais spoke with the enthusiasm of a child discovering a new toy. "But now, with the new way of building, we can have much bigger windows."

Daniel nodded. "Because the walls don't have to carry as much of the weight of the building anymore."

D'Orbais looked impressed. "Yes, exactly." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You are a builder?"

"No, only a stone carver."

"Then how do you know..."

Daniel shrugged. "It is a very long story and I would not bother you with the details."

D'Orbais frowned, but then clapped Daniel gently on the shoulder. "It does not matter anyhow. But if you are ever in need of work, come and see me."

Daniel bowed his head politely. "That is very kind. I thank you."

The other man shook his head, dismissing Daniel's politeness as if it were unnecessary. "Come, let's eat. The cellarer usually keeps new bread on hand, just for me."

Daniel gave him a sheepish smile. "I would like that, but I am afraid I must decline. I have someone waiting for me. She will go hungry if I do not return now."

"Ah, a wife?" D'Orbais gave him an indulgent nod of the head. "I have one of those as well."

"No...just...a traveling companion."

D'Orbais gave him a sharp look and then shrugged. "In that case, I think you should not keep this...companion...waiting." He doffed his hat. "I bid you good day and Godspeed."

"And you."

Daniel watched D'Orbais walk away, a mixture of regret and relief washing over him. He wished he could remain in Reims and work on the cathedral site, with artists of great skill and even greater knowledge. There were moments when the temptation to stay in Reims was overwhelming. But Daniel's determination—indeed, his desperate need to see his mission through—won the day in the end.

He had only tarried in Reims because of Ayesha. He could not involve her in his mission without endangering her, but he could not leave her to fend for herself either. Then, strangely, the solution had presented itself.

A day ago, he had run into a small group of Spanish artisans working on the cathedral. They were mostly glaziers and artisans, and after speaking with them for an hour or two, he had discovered that one of them was returning to Spain, his wife and young child in tow. They would be perfect traveling companions for Ayesha on her trip back to Cordoba.

If she agreed to leave, that is. He was certain she would be angry, but she had a rational mind, and he was sure she could be made to see reason eventually. With the problem of Ayesha's safety squared away, he was free to think of other things and make his own travel plans.

He considered the quickest—and cheapest—way to get to England. He needed to get to Calais and then on to a vessel crossing the great English sea. Various ideas flitted through his mind, but he could not focus on them over the growling sound in his stomach. He would have to get something to eat and fetch food for Ayesha before he could give more thought to his own plans.

He had barely walked a few yards in the direction of the town market when he heard a familiar voice. He turned and spotted Ayesha haggling with a vendor. He was too far away to hear what she was saying, but he allowed himself a moment to simply enjoy watching her as she tried to do business.

She was tiny, more than a head shorter than the woman who stood next to her. She also stood out from the crowd in a way Daniel had not noticed before. It was not just the clothes she wore, although the rich color of her surcoat was in stark contrast with the dull-colored wool worn by most of the townspeople. It was the way she carried herself, with great ease and confidence, as if she was perfectly at peace with herself. But he was about to spoil that peace and that thought disturbed him far more than he had expected.

As he neared, she caught his eye and frowned. "What are you doing here?" she asked, quickly slipping her hands into her pockets.

He chuckled. "I should ask you. I did not think you wanted to come into the town."

"No...well, I did not want to, not at first. But there were things I needed." She gestured vaguely at the ground and shrugged.

He nodded and motioned her to his side. "What did you need?"

"Nothing important, really." She grabbed his elbow and led him into the street. "Let us eat. I am rather hungry."

--000--

Night had fallen, bringing with it the inevitable rain shower. Ayesha watched as Daniel tried to build a fire in a corner of the barn. Although his flint sparked nicely, he could not get the wood to light.

She squatted down next to him. "Do you need help?"

"No. It's just...the kindling is damp."

"I think I saw some hay in the loft. Maybe we could use that?"

He shook his head and struck the flint again. "Already thought of that. It's damp too. Too much rain."

"Maybe we should just forget the fire. If we go to sleep, we will not realize it's cold."

"And what if it's so cold you are unable to sleep?"

She feigned shock. "Surely there is no such thing as being unable to sleep!"

He laughed. "Very well. One more try, and if I cannot get the fire to start, I will give up and we will be cold and pretend to sleep."

The flint struck again, and this time, the kindling caught fire. It was only a tiny ember, but after a few minutes, the wood began to crackle as the flame spread and grew. Ayesha leaned against the wall and stretched her legs out in front of the blaze.

"Don't get too close. Your shoes will catch fire."

She laughed and shrugged it off, leaning forward to warm her hands.

Daniel opened his mouth to speak, and then startled. "Your shoes...they've been mended." He pointed at the large square of stitched on leather at the bottom of Ayesha's shoe.

"Yes...I...there was a hole in the bottom. I took it to a cobbler in the market."

He frowned. "Why did you not tell me? That your shoes needed mending?"

She shrugged. "It was a small thing. I only thought to take care of it myself and not trouble you."

"You are no trouble," he began. "Wait. How did you pay him? The cobbler?"

She was flippant. "Why, with coin, of course."

"Do not mock me, Ayesha." He stared at her with his eyes narrowed, and his gaze was so intense it frightened her. "I know you have no money."

"I did not do anything dishonest, if that is what you mean!" She glared back, challenging him. This time, he backed off, and even seemed contrite.

"I did not mean that. I am only concerned for you."

"It was nothing. I traded what I did not need any longer."

"What did you trade?"

She shrugged. "Something. I already told you I did not need it anymore."

He huffed in exasperation, sitting up on his knees. "Why will you not tell me?" He plunged a hand into his pouch and pulled out two thin bangles. "I did not sell these, because I did not think it right for you to part with your things. If I had known you needed..." He stopped short, his eyes finally falling on her hands holding her surcoat closed.

"Your buttons." He sank back on to the ground. "You sold the buttons, didn't you?"

She nodded, and tried to take the sting out of her earlier words. "I am sorry. I should have told you I needed coin. It's just...I did not wish to worry you.

"I know I am a burden to you. I thought that if I could do a bit for myself, it would make it easier for you."

He shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he seemed more sad than angry. "You are not a burden." He gave her a sad smile. "Or at least you will not be one much longer.

"You are leaving this place...going back to Cordoba."

"What?!"

"I met a man yesterday, a Spaniard. He's going to Zaragoza in a week with his family. You could travel with them, and then make your way to Cordoba...to your father's house."

"I cannot return to my father's house." She glared at him, anger rising crimson on her face.

"Why not? You are...unsullied." He looked away, unable to meet her angry gaze. "If you like, I will write to Rashid, let him know that you are safe...that all this was the doing of a young girl with too many foolish ideas..."

She slapped him hard, the sound echoing in the silence of the barn. "Why? Why do you mock what I feel for you?"

His cheek stung from her blow, but he fought off the urge to touch it and quell the pain. "What you feel?! These feelings are nothing, less than nothing. They have no import in the world, and you are only fooling yourself!"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are not as hard as you pretend to be, Daniel." She leaned closer to him and whispered, voice low but challenging. "Tell me you have no feelings for me. Tell me there is no kindness in your heart for me, and I will leave."

He did not hesitate. "Nothing. I feel nothing for you."

She blanched and her shoulders sank in defeat. "I...I thought..."

"I don't mean to be harsh, Ayesha." He hesitated, and then put his hand on her shoulder, hoping to console her. She stared at him for a moment before shrugging off his gesture.

"I do care for you. As a man should care for any dear friend." He shook his head. "But it does not mean what you wish. To make more out of mere friendship is...wrong."

She listened to him in silence, despair growing in her heart. But no matter how harsh his words, she could not make herself believe that he did not care for her. Even if it were only as a friend, that was something to build on, was it not? In time, he would open himself up to her love, and return it in full measure. She was certain of it.

She spoke haltingly, choosing her words with great care. "If I am your friend, then why do you not treat with me as you would with a friend?"

He frowned in confusion. "I have always...always been kind to you, Ayesha. I have always shown you respect and concern. If that is not friendship..."

"Why do you send a friend away?" She made a pleading gesture with her hands. "Can I not stay here, remain your friend?"

"No." He looked sad, almost melancholy. In the guttering light of the fire, she could see the lines of worry on his face. It was just like the first time she had ever seen him, when he had been no more than a man with a dark secret. But for once, the mystery did not make him seem intriguing or heroic, only frightened and helpless.

She reached out and put a hand to his cheek, her fingers resting against the same spot she had slapped just minutes before. "Let me be your friend, Daniel. I will walk with you in life...you need not face all your fears alone."

He moved her hand away gently. "No, Ayesha. There are things I need to do. You cannot stay here with me.

"Because I'm not staying."

"What?!"

He hesitated and then spoke quickly, as if he needed to dispense with the words as fast as possible. "I'm going to England. To find my father."

She gaped at him, too surprised to speak for a very long while. When the words finally began to form in her mind, she could barely make her tongue speak them. "Your...your father? He is...in England?"

He nodded. "Yes. He's an Englishman."

"But you have an Arabic name. You said he was called al-Ahmar."

"That was a name given to him. Not his true English name."

Ayesha fell silent, mulling over this new part of the puzzle in her mind. "Is he...expecting you then?"

"No." Daniel scoffed and his face took on a hard expression, but he said no more.

"I could go with you." She twisted the cloth of her dress in her hands. "As a friend. Someone to travel with."

He shook his head, his jaw tight and determined.

"I could stay here. Wait for you, until you come back."

"No. From where I'm going, there will be no coming back."

--000--

_Notes_

The cathedral of Notre-Dame de Reims was the first—and one of the most famous—churches built in the neo-Gothic style of the 12th and 13th centuries. Construction began in 1211, and as that falls right into this story's timeline, I couldn't resist including some of the cathedral information in this chapter. The builder Jean D'Orbais was indeed the cathedral's first architect.

Kamal al-Din ibn Yunus, one of Daniel's teachers, was an Islamic scholar of mathematics and a famous teacher in Baghdad in the early 13th century (but note, the Wikipedia entry for ibn Yunus refers to a different mathematician of the same name). Similarly, ibn al-Haytham (known to the western world as Alhazen), whose works Ayesha makes reference to, was the author of a famous treatise on Optics, and one of the foremost physics scholars of all time (not just his time).


	22. Chapter 22: Interlude

**Interlude**

_Acre_

Mid-January 1195

It took nearly two days to put out the blaze at the back of the house. Swirling winds and having just four people drawing water to put out the fire did not make things easier. Will ran a finger along the charred remains of a doorway, marveling at the fact that a structure built with so little wood had still burned so hot and for so long.

"It is because of the lime used to build the walls." Djaq's voice broke into Will's thoughts, startling him.

"How did you know..."

She patted his arm and gave him a small smile, but the expression was fleeting and quickly replaced by a frown. "You will have to go. To the burial."

Will nodded. Putting out the fire, securing the house and ensuring the safety of the few people who remained had been their first priority in the immediate aftermath of the attack. But eventually, they were forced to attend to Bassam's last rites.

With Will's help, Faisal had cleaned the body and wrapped it in clean sheets of white linen. Bassam lay on a bier in the courtyard of the house as his servants paid their last respects, while an aging imam had led them in silent and final prayer for the dead man. Djaq had remained calm and restrained throughout, all signs of tears and grief wiped away. She was determined to honor Bassam's memory by being as strong as she could be, and Will marveled at her fortitude in the face of so much sorrow.

He took her hand. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"It is not allowed. Only men are permitted to enter a cemetery."

"I know. But Bassam would have wanted you there."

Djaq shrugged. "Maybe. But I think he would be pleased I chose to honor our traditions—his traditions—at least one last time."

Will considered arguing with her, but thought better of it. Instead, he squeezed her hand and let go, nodding a brief farewell as he walked out of the ruins of the house.

His head covered with a piece of cloth, Will joined Faisal and two other men as they lifted the bier and made their way to the cemetery. It was not far, only about a quarter of a mile from the house, and Will felt the short distance deprived Bassam of a grander final journey. _There should be other people here...important people. Nasim..._

Will shook his head. There was no point thinking of that man anymore. If anything, his conduct had made him so undeserving of Bassam's kinship that it was only right he was not here to lay his father to rest. As far as Will was concerned, that too was part of Nasim's punishment.

The cemetery was a solemn place, quiet and deserted, except for two men who had already dug the grave. Will watched as Bassam's body was lowered into his resting place, facing east. Faisal and the others threw handfuls of soil into the grave, their lips moving in soundless prayer. The clods of earth fell into the hole with a dull sound and Will suddenly found himself outside the churchyard at Locksley, holding his brother's hand as his mother's body was consigned to the earth. But this was different. There was no gravestone here, no clutch of flowers or grieving kin to mark the passing of this soul. There was no strange priest chanting even stranger Latin words, nobody whispering ominous things about unshriven deaths and damnation. This was better. This was...peace.

_I'll take care of her, Bassam. I promise._

--000--

_Two days later_

Djaq sat on her bed, fingering the ivory inlay in an old wooden box. It was a handsome piece that had once belonged to Bassam's wife, and he had presented it to Djaq with great affection on the night she and Will had married. The gesture had surprised her, but not nearly as much as the contents of the box.

She flipped open the lid and emptied the box on to the bed. Her fingers combed over gold and silver jewelry, the usual trappings of the life of a married woman of wealth. Bassam had not let her feel like an orphan on the day of her marriage, honoring her with proper _shābka_ and _mahr_. More importantly, he had provided Will with coin and jewelry so that Djaq would receive everything a Muslim bride should get from her husband. It must have pained Bassam to know he was only giving her the wealth she would have acquired if she had indeed become Nasim's wife. But if Bassam had felt any anger or bitterness over Djaq's marriage to Will, he had never shown it. Bassam's affection could never be measured in riches, for it went far beyond that.

He had cared for her and protected her, not only from the obvious evils, but from those she could not possibly have perceived on her own. Djaq had not been able to return either the care or protection in kind, and she would have eternal regret over that. But Bassam had not believed in idle mourning in life, and she would not sully his memory by wailing at his death. She would honor him by trying to live her life by his example. _For every man there is a purpose which he sets up for his life and which he pursues. Let yours be the doing of all good deeds._

The first of those deeds would be to help the less fortunate as Bassam often had. She wrapped the jewelry in an old headscarf and set it aside. It could be sold for money or simply given away, but in either case, it was more useful to someone else.

In preparation for the trip south, Djaq had packed most of her finery away in a trunk under the bed, and she pulled it out to examine the contents. They were mostly expensive dresses and scarves that Bassam had presented to her on various occasions. She had never liked them, and parting with them would be no great burden. The dresses could not be sold or bartered, but they might make a nice dowry for one of the pigeon handlers.

She pushed aside the bright fabrics, and found what she was looking for: a simple white _abāya_. It was made of ordinary cloth, its only adornment a thin string of white beads at the neck and hem. It was the dress she had worn to the quiet ceremony that had joined her to Will by contract, and next to the wooden wedding ring Will had given her, the dress was her most precious possession. She pulled the garment out of the trunk and folded it gently before pushing it into her travel sack. The marriage contract and the formal documents detailing her inheritance would be given to Anissa for safe-keeping. They would be useless in England anyway.

All that was left was the coin. She hauled the chest to the foot of the bed and began to count the silver. She had barely finished with a handful of coins when she heard the door swing open.

Will walked in, looking tired but peaceful. She suspected he was hiding some of his happiness at their decision to return to England, so he would not appear inappropriately gleeful in a house in mourning. But there was a spring in his step and a light in his eyes he could not quite hide, and his joy touched her as few things ever had. She beamed at him in spite of her own grief.

He gave her a curious look. "What are you doing?"

She laughed. "What does it look like? I am counting silver."

"You look like Robin after a raid on the castle."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "We are Robin Hood, after all."

He chuckled and dug a hand into the chest, pulling out a handful of coins. "This could help a lot of people back home."

"Yes. But there are poor people here as well." She watched as he dropped the money back into the chest. "Besides, hauling this around will make it very difficult to get back to England quickly."

He grinned, and then abruptly, his expression changed, and a small frown formed. "You should keep some. For yourself."

"Why?"

"Because...it's yours." He shrugged. "You shouldn't have to give it away, if that's not what you want."

"But that is what we do, Will. We take from the rich and give to the poor."

He pondered this for a long while before answering. "You know, I'm starting to think it doesn't really help anybody. The poor don't get any richer, and you just make some rich people poor too."

She gaped at him, and then laughed. "I do not think that is quite how it works.

"Besides, as I said before, it is too much to carry around." She smirked at him. "And I hear England is full of outlaws, just waiting to rob innocent travelers."

He guffawed and began to help her with the coins. "You should give it all to Faisal...I mean, if you don't mean to keep it."

"What?!"

"It's just...he's earned it, I think."

Djaq did not respond right away. She had intended to apportion the money among the poor of the city, those who had been most affected by the recent battles. But Will was right. Faisal had been loyal and steadfast and surely that deserved some sort of reward.

"That," she said, continuing to sort the coins, "is a good idea." Her eyes fell on the jewelry packaged in the headscarf. "But I have a better idea. Give Faisal this. He can keep it or sell it, his choice." She shrugged to emphasize her indifference to the jewels.

Will took the package from her, hefting it silently in his hand. This time, he made no argument as he slipped the package into his pocket.

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Oh. You want me to go see him right now?"

She laughed. "Yes. The sooner we leave the better, Will."

He seemed about to protest, but instead, he nodded and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I'll be back soon."

She kissed his cheek and gave him a quick embrace before he turned and walked out of the room. She listened to his footsteps recede into the distance, and only when she was certain he was far away did she reach for the dagger in her sleeve. She had been dreading this one last task, but there was nothing for it now. She had done it before, after all, and it was no great tragedy.

She took a hunk of her hair, now grown well past her shoulders, and hacked it off with the dagger, watching as it fell to the floor in thick clumps. She had always liked her hair, the way it made her look and feel. But it was only a vanity, and one she could not afford on the long journey back to England. She banished any regret and kept cutting, until she was satisfied with the pile at her feet. Finally, she glanced at her reflection in a mirror and when an outlaw with short cropped hair stared back at her, she set the mirror aside. That was enough for now.

--000--

Will watched in silence as Djaq spoke to the pigeon handlers. The port in Acre was besieged by battling Crusaders and Saladin's armies. No ship had docked there in weeks, and none would be leaving from there either. Djaq had decided they would travel overland to the north, away from the battle until they reached the port of Sur. It was controlled by the Crusaders, but with the Sultan's armies showing no interest in retaking it, the port was a safe place for Will and Djaq to embark on their journey. Faisal would travel with them for a part of the way, taking his family back to his own village in the north.

But not everyone was leaving. The two pigeon handlers would be staying in the city. With all the birds gone, it made little sense for them to make this journey, and they both had families they were eager to return to.

Will and Djaq were traveling light. They had managed to reduce their belonging to just two sacks, along with a small pouch of coins, Will's tools and their weapons. Djaq was still dressed in her Saracen robes, her head covered by the usual scarf and veils. But he had a suspicion all that would be gone the moment they left the city, and for his part, he was glad. Djaq was lovely no matter what she wore, but there were days when he missed seeing her as she'd been in England, where her spirit was her only adornment and she was all the more beautiful for it.

He stared at her, allowing himself a smile at his memories of the woman who ran around the forest and bested men twice her size. She caught his eye and gave him an amused look. He laughed and ducked his head in embarrassment, as she grinned and beckoned him to where she was.

He took her hand, not caring that this was not considered proper. She did not seem to care either.

"Someone here wants to speak to you." She waved her hand in the direction of the pigeon handlers, and Will recognized the girl who had helped him bar the door to the kitchens during the siege.

The girl, the one named Rahima, was looking up at him with a huge grin on her face, holding out a long package wrapped in linen. She spoke to him in Arabic, thanking him for his help during the attack, and offering the package as a gift.

Will hesitated. "It was nothing. I don't need a gift."

Rahima clucked her tongue and pushed the package at him so suddenly, he was forced to take it from her. She smiled triumphantly at him.

"I...er, thank you." Beside him, he heard Djaq stifling a giggle. He caught her eye and asked her a wordless question, but she just nodded at the package.

"I think you are meant to open it, Will." She nudged him to hurry up as he began to unfurl the wrappings.

Will undid the last bit of linen around the package to reveal a dagger with an impressive handle made of carved wood. He ran his finger along a trail of tiny leaves on the handle, swallowing as his awe got the better of him.

"This is..." His voice trailed off. He did not speak Arabic well enough to tell the girl how pleased he was with the gift, so he settled for something much simpler. "Thank you."

Rahima smiled and then bowed her head politely at Djaq, addressing her in Arabic. Her voice was too low for Will to make out what she was saying, but Djaq seemed amused, if the smirk on her face was anything to go by.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "What did she say?"

"Nothing important." The smirk widened into a smile, as Djaq dropped her voice and whispered. "I think she likes you."

"What?! I..."

"Only teasing." Djaq giggled. "But you should see your face, Will!"

He rolled his eyes. "If you're done laughing at me, we should get going. I'd like to set out before it gets too dark and too cold."

Djaq nodded and bid a final goodbye to the women, embracing them and wishing them well. "_Ma'salama. Barakullah fik_."

The women bowed low as Djaq made her way out of Bassam's house for the last time.

--000--

_Two days later_

Sur, Crusader-controlled Levant (modern-day Tyre, Lebanon)

Will gave a low whistle as they approached the city of Sur from the south. The place rose up as if out of nowhere, and its two massive gates dwarfed everything in sight. On the west, one gate led to the most impressive harbor Will had ever seen.

He nudged Djaq. "It's fantastic, isn't it?"

"It is alright, I suppose." She made a derisive sound. "It is not as important as Acre, or surely the Sultan would have made more effort to recapture it."

Will nodded, but suspected there were other reasons why the Saracens had not bothered to besiege this place. He was no expert, but the city looked nearly impregnable, not only because of the two gates, but also because of the fortifications and the harbor.

It was smaller than Acre, but more imposing somehow. Djaq had told him the Franks called it Tyre, and it was so old that it had been mentioned in the Bible. He had been surprised to learn that this port was still controlled by the Crusaders, but the evidence of it was everywhere. As they walked through the city—its streets both broader and cleaner than in Acre—Will saw Crusaders, merchants, and even a few priests milling about as if they were going to market in Europe somewhere. They seemed perfectly at ease with their surroundings, in sharp contrast to the tension in Acre. Even the Saracens here seemed happier, and certainly, nobody took any note of a Christian man traveling with a Saracen woman. _Maybe that's more common here too._

They were heading towards the house of Djaq's friend Anissa, who had left Acre for Sur just before the siege began. Djaq had spoken of Anissa from time to time, but he had never pressed her to say more. Will had no idea how Djaq had stayed in touch with her, but Anissa was going to help them leave the Holy Land, and that was enough for Will. The actual circumstances of her friendship with Djaq did not matter to him.

A crowd had gathered up ahead and was blocking the rest of the street. Will frowned and caught Djaq's eyes, but she shook her head, looking confused. His hand curled around the handle of his hatchet, and Will readied himself for a possible melee.

But nothing happened. There was loud chatter and an occasional snatch of music, but it did not look like a violent mob. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. Two lines of Christian revelers had formed around the door to a large house, with a separate line of Saracens in the street ahead of where he and Djaq were. They were all richly dressed and looking happy and rather drunk. Will smiled as he recognized the sight.

Djaq elbowed him. "What is going on? Do you think we should take a closer look?"

"It's a wedding." Will cocked his head in the direction of the door, through which the bride had just emerged. "See?"

Djaq gaped at the sight. "It is not like any wedding I have ever seen."

Will took in the ornate wedding garments and jewelry the bride wore. "Me neither. She must be important."

"Her father is probably the important one." She snorted. "I would say her father is a rich man, but I think that dress has made him poor."

Will laughed. "It's too bad Robin's not here. He would have enjoyed this, I think."

Djaq had been chuckling to herself, but she stopped abruptly at Will's words, and gave him a sharp look.

Will fell silent, understanding her wordless reminder about Robin and just what he had lost in his struggle against the Sheriff and Gisborne.

Old anger rose up in Will's mind and he clenched his fists in response. Djaq put a hand to his elbow and stroked his arm until the tension and the bitter taste in his mouth passed, leaving only a lingering sadness in their wake.

"Come now," she said as she pulled him along behind her. "We will go a different way. It should not be too far now." Djaq's voice was cheerful, but there was a tinge of regret in it, an echo of his own melancholy. She squeezed his hands and locked her gaze with his. "There will be another time to talk about all that. I promise. No more sadness now."

He nodded. "No more."

--000--

Will stood out on a balcony at Anissa's house, surveying the view before him. It was splendid, like a thing out of one of his dreams. He could see the harbor laid out in front of him, tall masts of great ships reaching out like church steeples to Heaven. It would be an incredible thing, to be able to build a ship with only fine wood and a few tools. And then, to see your creation actually sail out on the water. It was enough to make a man feel like God Himself. Will shook his head and dismissed the thought as fanciful at best—and blasphemous at worst. He turned his eyes towards the horizon, beyond the harbor and the ships.

Blue-green water spread out as far as the eye could see. England is out there somewhere. The thought of going home—finally, after all their trials—made him nearly dizzy with happiness, and he had to grab the nearest wall to keep from losing his feet.

He heard a chuckle behind him, soft and feminine. Thinking it was Djaq, he turned and held out his hands, only to find himself staring at Anissa instead. He dropped his hands, and looked away, embarrassed.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" Anissa pointed at the ocean view before them, and spoke, her voice soft and her English perfect, if thickly accented.

Will nodded politely, pleased she did not make much of his earlier misstep. "It's brilliant. I've never seen anything like it before."

She was standing next to him, but at a safe distance—far enough away that Will could study her without causing any alarm. She was much taller than Djaq, and although Djaq had once said she thought Anissa was also prettier, Will decided this could not be true. He could only see the woman's eyes over the veil she wore, but that was enough. Where Djaq's eyes shone with spirit and determination, Anissa's were harder, edged instead with fear and bitterness. Will felt for her, even as he recoiled a little from her gaze. He was about to speak when her voice cut into his thoughts.

"The sea is magnificent, but it is also dangerous." She narrowed her eyes and stared at Will, challenging him. He met her gaze evenly, but eventually looked away. "We have a saying here...that the sea takes a man's soul long before it takes his life."

Will frowned. "That's a little..."

"Yes, it's worrying. Just before a sea voyage. We will speak of something else."

Will shuffled his feet and began to consider ways of getting out of this conversation before it became any stranger.

"I never had a chance to thank you for the gift you gave."

Will looked at her in confusion, not understanding her remark.

She smiled and tried to jog his memory. "The box. For my son's birth. It was handsome...a very good piece of craftsmanship."

Will nodded, finally comprehending. "It was nothing, really. I like to do things with wood, keep busy."

"Yes, of course. But it was a nice gesture, all the same."

There was an odd tone in her voice that put Will on edge, and even her attempt at polite but unnecessary conversation did not put him at ease. "You're not really here to talk about my carpentry, are you?"

"No," she said simply, and fell silent.

Will turned away from her and returned to admiring the view, trying to put Anissa out of his mind. He had the sense she was goading him, trying to get him to confess to some horrible crime, but he was not going to be taken in. Not this time.

"I have a favor to beg of you."

Will turned to face Anissa again, startled at the sudden request. "Of course. Anything."

"Leave her here. Do not take Saffiyah from us."

"What? No!"

Anissa clasped her hands together, begging him to reconsider. "You must do this. She was nearly taken from us, those who love her, once. I do not wish to lose her again."

Will balked. Her words came far too close to those Nasim had once spoken about Djaq. He bit back the curses that his mind threw out, and slapped his hand against the stone wall, frustrated and angry.

"What is wrong with you? All of you people?

"You all claim you love Djaq. But you don't understand her." He shook his head, trying to think of clever ways to speak his mind. "You don't even care enough to let her make up her own mind.

"I'm not _taking_ her from you. She's coming with me because she wants to. It's her choice."

Anissa turned on him, just as angry in her turn. "It has nothing to do with choice! She goes with you because she loves you."

"What's so terrible about that?"

Anissa stared at him for a moment, surprise writ large on her face. She backed down, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft, edged with concern instead of anger. "It is not terrible. Love is...well, it can be a good thing. But it blinds people to danger.

"Saffiyah does not think there is any danger for her in this voyage." She fixed her eyes on Will. "Can you promise me that she will be safe in your land?"

"Yes."

"As safe as you were here?" She spat the words at him, her voice laced with scorn. It was a trap, and he had seen it, but he had still walked right into it.

Will cursed himself under his breath, and then spoke the only words that came to him. "I promise you. I will do whatever I can to keep her safe, keep her happy." It was his turn to plead with her. "Please try and understand."

The expression of scorn was still on her face, but it softened after a moment, and Anissa nodded. "I knew you would not agree, but I had to at least try. For Saffiyah's sake. Do _you_ understand?"

Will was certain he did not. There was no sense in making pleas to him about Djaq. He was determined she would never be less than she was, just as he was determined never to keep anything from her again. But he had a feeling Anissa would not understand, so he simply nodded in response.

She turned to leave, skirts trailing behind her. But when she reached the doorway into the house, she turned to him again.

"I want to say this one last thing." She doffed her veils so he could see her face. Will backed away a step, surprised at the gesture. But then, realizing she was doing him a great honor, Will looked down and away, as politeness required, trying to keep his eyes trained on his feet as she spoke.

"There are people in this world who are meant only to lead, not follow. Do you understand?"

He matched her frank gaze with his own. "Yes."

She nodded and then smiled. "Go with God, al-Ahmar. May His blessings be upon you."

--000--

Djaq stretched her legs and yawned. They were in a spacious bedroom in Anissa's house. In spite of their many protests and offers to stay at an inn, Anissa had insisted that she and Will take a room in the house. Now, with the sun setting outside, and the exhaustion of their travels upon them, Djaq was glad she had not had the energy to argue the point with her friend.

Will sat next to her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. The setting sun cast long shadows across his face, obscuring part of it from her view. It made him look like the desert spirit from her dreams, beautiful but frightening, and she shivered, in spite of herself.

He frowned and his grip on her shoulders tightened. "Are you alright?"

"It is nothing." She patted his hand to reassure him. "Just a chill. It is cooler here than in Acre."

"True." He pointed to the harbor outside the window. "But the sea seems calm enough. We should be able to leave tomorrow."

She threaded her fingers through his and curled into his chest, happy that he was solid and real and not something conjured by her mind.

"You know, it will be nearly spring in England when we get there."

"Hmm." She felt his fingers in her hair, and remembered that Will had not remarked on the new shorter length.

"You...you do not like it?"

"It's fine." He kissed her forehead gently and dropped his arm to her waist, pulling her closer. "You look like when I first saw you."

She laughed. "Is that a good thing?"

"Yes." He caught the teasing look on her face too late. "You're very silly sometimes."

"Do you think this is better?" She ran a hand through her hair, disconcerted by it. "Am I more Djaq the boy than Saffiyah the girl?"

He did not hesitate. "No. You're just you."

She marveled at his clarity and his lack of doubt where she was concerned. She wished she could mirror it, if only for a moment. She reached up and took his face in her hands. "Thank you. For saying that. And for just being you." She kissed him, and as his lips parted under her own, she wondered at how easy it was to love another.

He broke the kiss and gazed down at her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "We don't have to go, you know."

"What?!"

"To England. We don't have to go. We can just stay here, start our lives over." He moved away and held her apart a bit. "I don't want to go, if you're not happy.

"You are..." He hesitated, and Djaq thought she could feel his uncertainty through his fingers. "You're happy, aren't you?"

"Yes. Of course, I'm happy." She put a hand to his cheek. "I see how happy you are, to be going back. And that makes me happy."

He shook his head and moved her hand away. "That's not really an answer, Djaq. I think..."

She put her fingers to his lips, silencing him. "Do you know what I think? This is probably the last time we will have a room to ourselves."

A smile grew under her fingertips, as he drew her close and bent his head to kiss her. "Would be a shame to waste it then."

In Djaq's dreams that night, the desert spirit laughed.

--000--


	23. Chapter 23: Voyage

Sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter, but it's almost the length of two chapters, so I hope that makes up for it.

As usual, thanks to Wenrom31, for her excellent beta work and her constant encouragement and enthusiasm.

--

**Voyage**

_On board The Little Cloud_

_Early February 1195_

Will took a slow sip from the flagon of liquor a deckhand had sold him. It was terrible and burned his throat as he swallowed, but it was also desperately familiar. It tasted like England, and he reveled in it. He took another sip, swishing the liquid around his mouth to make the taste last longer. Then finally, with a great show of reluctance, he passed the flagon to Djaq.

He watched closely as she drank, worried for her. When the ship had first left Tyre, she had spent nearly the entire day standing on deck and looking out at the land as it slowly fell away and they became surrounded by water. Will knew that leaving her home again—this time, forever—was a deeply wrenching thing for Djaq, but she had not wanted to admit it, even when he prodded her, and ultimately, he had let it go. _She'll talk about it when she feels like it._

Djaq scowled at him and took a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He frowned, knowing she was trying hard to adopt manly gestures so nobody would guess at her true gender, and he felt both anger and bitterness at this. The pretense was as much for her safety as anything else, but it pained him to see her forced to be anything less than she really was. They were both constantly on guard, making sure her secret was safe. There was danger here in ways that Will had not even considered. Even with her hair cut short and her breasts tightly bound with cloth under her manly clothes, her voice and her mannerisms were still very feminine. Even simple things—like the act of relieving herself, something men did so thoughtlessly and out in the open—was a potential risk for Djaq. He had never considered before how difficult it must have been for her to carry out the charade on her first voyage, where she had no friends or allies to help her. It made Will love her all the better, even as it made him hate the world worse.

She was clearly wary of the liquor. He knew drinking was forbidden to her, but water was in short supply on the ship, and Djaq had been more worried about waterborne illness than the strictures of her own religion.

He saw her grimace as she drank a second time, this time taking a smaller sip.

"You don't like it much, do you?"

Djaq shoved the flagon back at him. "It tastes like something made of rotten fruit. And dirty socks."

He guffawed. "It's not quite that bad." Will took another generous sip. "I think it's made to get you drunk quickly."

She nodded, and frowned, obviously trying to work something out. "Why is that a good thing? Getting drunk, I mean?"

It was Will's turn to frown. "I don't know, really." He shrugged. "I don't think I've been drunk enough to know if there's something special about it.

"But I'll tell you what, Djaq." The liquor was just starting to pool in his stomach, making him bolder than usual, but also more silly. "If I get very drunk on this, I'll let you take advantage of me."

She raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Tempting. But the others here might get the wrong idea."

"What? About you?"

"No. About _you_. They'll think you like little boys."

He was confused. Little boys were harmless. What was not to like? He decided to let it go, when Djaq's real meaning came to him. "Oh." He suspected his face was red, and not just from the liquor.

Djaq was laughing, her eyes dancing as she teased him. "Unless you want them to think you like little boys."

Will shrugged. "If that's the price, I'm willing to pay." He dropped his voice and looked down to their hands, palms pressed to the oiled wood of the deck. He let his hand brush hers. "It's just..." He tried to find the right words, but they did not come to him, so he simply leaned over and kissed her softly.

She startled, but then relaxed and curled her little finger around his before kissing his cheek gently. "There's someone watching," she said, jerking her head towards the shadows at the other end of the ship.

Will stiffened and peered into the darkness. He could not see very well, but there was someone lurking in the shadows, looking oddly bent in the darkness of the night.

"I don't think he saw, Djaq."

Djaq nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. "You are probably right. But I would rather not test that proposition." She yawned, and fell silent, and soon, with the ship lilting gently on the waves, they both fell asleep.

--

She stood at the prow of the ship, clutching a wooden box tightly to her chest. Her hands pressed into the intricate pattern of leaves carved into the wood until the design became imprinted on her fingers. The tall green man climbed over the bow of the ship and accosted her, arrows aimed right at her, as he tried to take the box away. She ran from him and kept running as far as she could, until the ship became a forest glade, and the trees reached out and embraced her. But soon, the branches tightened around her, and the leaves became a web from which she could not escape. The green man laughed and snatched the wooden box away, throwing it far away and into the sea. It tossed violently on the water, and she cried and tried to jump in to save it. But the desert spirit caught her and held her back, shaking his head sadly.

Djaq woke with a start, the dream dissolving but leaving a bitter taste in its wake. Next to her, Will murmured something and came awake, but a moment later, he turned over and went back to sleep. Stench from the bilges accosted her, and bile rose in her throat, as her stomach threatened. Djaq got up quickly and leaned over the side rail, retching violently into the scuppers. But there was hardly anything in her stomach, and after a few futile heaves, she gave up and stumbled back to Will's spot on the deck.

It was dark on the ship now, the moon hiding behind thick clouds and plunging the craft into inky blackness. In the darkness, Djaq could not make out one shape from another, and before she could stop herself, she tripped over the sleeping form of an old man and landed on her bottom beside him. He cursed at her in Norman-accented French, but once he came fully awake, he gave her a curious look and a knowing smile. Djaq thought he looked familiar, and realized this was the same she and Will had seen the night before. He watched her intently, and keenly aware of his scrutiny, she wrapped her arms around herself, obscuring her chest and trying to appear as fierce as possible. He seemed amused by this, but at length, he conceded, and inclined his head politely in her direction.

"I'm sorry for my language. I forget myself sometimes."

Djaq put on her most gruff manner and grunted at him, knowing that too much conversation would give away her gender.

The man smirked at her and came closer, close enough that Djaq could now see the man's cassock and the wooden crucifix that hung at his waist. She relaxed and let her guard down a little. Though she had no great faith in Christian priests, at least he did not present the same danger to her as other seafarers did. Still, she was not about to reveal herself to this man; he would have to figure out the puzzle on his own.

"Are you...unwell? I saw you being sick earlier."

His concern seemed genuine enough, so Djaq shrugged. "It is nothing. But the water is choppy, and I have had trouble sleeping."

The priest nodded. "I understand. But perhaps I can help. We travelers have an old trick." He pointed vaguely at the sky, still cloudy and dark. "See if you can pick out a star or two, some distant object. Fix your gaze on it, and it will settle your stomach."

Djaq chuckled. "Thank you for your advice, but I'm not seasick."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes, I suppose there could be...other explanations for your illness."

Djaq squirmed, as his meaning became clear and raised fresh doubt in her own mind. She shook her head and glared at him. "No."

The priest laughed. "Oh? Because you're a boy?" He gave her a sardonic half-smile, before dropping down on to the deck next to her. "I'll tell you a secret. If you're a boy, then I'm the Pope."

Djaq was appalled, but she caught the teasing edge to his voice and on reflection, decided that her situation was rather amusing to someone who knew the truth. "It is a pleasure to meet you then, Your Holiness."

The priest laughed again, and after a moment's hesitation, Djaq joined him, feeling enormous relief that someone else knew her secret. It was a burden she carried every minute of every day, and it was beginning to wear on her. On the one hand, her manly clothes and shorter hair were convenient, more comfortable than feminine robes and long hair would have been. But, on the other hand, the constant effort of pretending, of trying to adopt a man's gait and mannerisms, of keeping quiet so her voice would raise no suspicions, these things weighed her down and exhausted her as the journey progressed. She sighed heavily, trying to put such thoughts out of her mind.

The priest looked concerned. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, just fine. Just lost myself in thought for a moment."

The priest nodded and then slapped his own forehead gently. "Ah, forgive me. I am remiss. My name is Guy de Bazoches." He held his hand out in greeting, but she did not take it, not particularly liking that custom of the Europeans.

Instead, she nodded politely. "Djaq."

"Well met, Djaq."

"Well met, Brother Guy."

He chuckled. "Father Guy, actually." He waved his hand dismissively as if to say the error did not bother him. "Tell me, how is it a Saracen woman is traveling aboard a ship all alone?" As he spoke, he cast a long glance to where Will was sleeping, hinting to Djaq that he was aware she was not quite alone.

"His name is Will, if you must know. He's my..." There was no sense in lying to the priest. He would know enough to know they were not married in the way that mattered to men of the cloth. "He's my friend." It was not a lie, not exactly. Before anything else, Will had been her friend, and still was. _My best and most cherished friend..._

"A Crusader?"

Djaq shook her head, but did not elaborate. There would be too many questions to answer, if she began to explain who she and Will really were. It was best to leave the priest to his own conclusions.

"He's an Englishman, isn't he?"

She frowned. "How did you know that?"

"I can know such things just by looking."

Djaq raised an eyebrow at him, and he demurred.

"Alright. I heard the two of you speaking before." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Are you on your way to England then?"

"Yes. We're on our way home."

Father Guy looked taken aback for a moment, and he fell silent as he considered Will. "Strange, aren't they?"

"Who? Englishmen?"

He nodded. "Yes. I find them...lacking in piety." He frowned and gestured in Will's direction. "There are godly men among the English, but for most, God is only a second skin, one they shed when it's no longer needed."

Djaq bristled, wondering if the priest was referring to Will taking up with a Saracen woman as a way of shedding his God. But she noticed that Father Guy's expression was soft, more regretful than scornful, and she relaxed. Besides, what he said was true. The Englishmen she knew did not spare much thought for God, and even when they did, it was mostly to invoke Him in some blasphemous curse against their enemies.

"I think they honor God with their actions, rather than their words."

Father Guy nodded. "Perhaps. But they are so very unsubtle. They speak of all matters—trivial things, important things, even private things—in the same open way." He gave her a frank look. "Have you not noticed this?"

Djaq chuckled, and added, "I have seen it. But what you see as a lack of subtlety, I see as honesty. They are truthful and generous, and they have a nobility of spirit that has nothing to do with their birth."

She gave the priest a sharp look. "I have never known men more committed to justice and fairness than the English.

"Mark my words; they will rule the world one day."

Father Guy smiled. "Yes. And expect us to thank them for it!"

Djaq laughed, and she and Father Guy spent much of the rest of the night talking of their experiences. She was careful to tell him only the most innocuous details, such as her studies of medicine and alchemy, and for his part, he asked no probing questions, but described his travels across Europe and the Holy Land. Eventually, they both became tired, and when she could no longer stifle her yawns, Djaq bid the priest good night and made her way back to Will.

_Someone else knows my secret now_. That thought brought with it a new clarity. The disguise—the pretense of being a boy—had been necessary for Saffiyah, who never would have survived either the battles outside Acre or the horror of the slave galley, if anyone had known she was a woman. She had been alone then, left to fend for herself by a cruel enemy and a crueler fate. But everything was different now; she was different now. She was no longer alone. She had Will, and if there was ever a time when she could not protect herself, he would certainly step in to save her. _There is no need to pretend anymore_, she thought, relief and certainty flooding her mind.

It was nearly dawn now, and she could clearly make out Will's sleeping form. He took up far too much space, his long legs stretched out in front of him, boots sticking out of the end of the blanket. She laughed softly, finding him utterly adorable. She wrapped an arm around his waist, and when he covered her arms with his own and squeezed her hand, she smiled and promised herself the dreams would not haunt her again on this journey.

--

The morning sun glinted harshly off the surface of the water, forcing Will to look away. They were only a day from landfall now, and for his part, Will was glad. Ships were marvels of construction, and he longed to learn the tricks of that trade from a proper shipwright one day. But traveling by sea made him nervous. The ship tossed about too much, and for days, they saw nothing but water and more water. He needed to feel solid ground beneath his feet, needed to see a tree, a few rooftops. Will comforted himself with the knowledge that in a few weeks, they would finally be in England.

Next to him, Djaq stirred. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and then reached out and stroked her hair until she went back to sleep. He knew she was having a difficult time resting on this journey, although he was not certain why she was so anxious. He had a suspicion it had to do with leaving her homeland again, and just as the last time, she was laden with tragedy and grief as she made the journey. At least this time, she was coming of her own free will.

He took a good long look at her sleeping form. Her face was peaceful, almost content, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Djaq had denied any ill feeling about leaving the Holy Land, but for much of the first day, she had stayed on the port deck and watched the coastline, almost as if she were trying to hold on to that last bit of her home. He did not press her about it, but he thought he could understand how she was feeling. He had the same uncertainty when the gang had left Portsmouth in the mad rush to find Marian and thwart the Sheriff, and that was despite knowing that he would return to England one day. For Djaq, this farewell was forever, and he was not sure she had made peace with that yet.

Will looked up and then sat up straight in surprise. An old man was staring at him, the black robes of a priest flapping in the wind. It was the same man who had caught him trying to kiss Djaq the other night, and worry pricked at Will as he met the man's gaze. What if he knew their secret?

"What...are you doing here? Are you spying on me?"

The old man laughed. "Hardly! Are you so important that I should spy on you?"

"No, I suppose not."

"No indeed." The man regarded Will for a moment, and then added, "I'm a traveler, like you, Master Will. As I have been for many years now."

Will frowned. "How did you know my name?"

The man laughed and gestured in Djaq's direction. "She told me."

"She?"

The man raised an eyebrow at Will. "You can protest, but I know what I know. And the secret is safe with me." He picked up the wooden crucifix hanging from his belt. "Before God." He dropped the cross and held out his hand in greeting. "I'm called Guy de Bazoches."

Will nodded weakly, and took the proffered hand. He had more questions, but he suspected he would only get some cryptic answer that would sound like a riddle, but also like sage wisdom. He sighed.

"Who is she?" Father Guy gestured in Djaq's direction and Will's guard went up again. The less anyone spoke to him about Djaq the better, for her safety and his own peace of mind.

Will shrugged off the question, so Father Guy persisted.

"I mean, do you know where she's from? Whether she's well born? That sort of thing?"

"Why do you need to know?"

Father Guy shrugged. "I'm a traveler, and I keep an account of my travels." He pointed at a leather-bound volume in his satchel. "Mostly I write about the places I've seen, but sometimes about the people whose paths cross mine."

Will frowned. Even if it had been safe to tell this man about Djaq, he was not sure if he actually knew enough to answer probing questions about her life before she first arrived in England. He hesitated, and at length, he simply demurred, letting Father Guy know he was not willing to talk about Djaq.

The priest narrowed his eyes at Will, taking his measure. "Very well. Tell me about yourself then." The priest scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Tell me how an Englishman who is not a Crusader ends up in the Holy Land, and with a Saracen woman at that."

"I...er..." Will cast about for something to say that would be credible but not incriminate him. He did not need the whole world to know he was an outlaw, after all. That was when he noticed the old man carrying a long roll of parchment. "What's that for?"

"This? Why, to show off my talent, of course." The man smiled, but then frowned when he realized his joke was off the mark. "I'm making a horoscope for the captain."

"A horror scope?"

The priest laughed. "Some might call it that, yes…for the future can be a horror indeed." He unfolded the parchment and laid it flat for Will to see. "This, however, is just a chart. Some Saracen scholars believe you can predict a man's future from the way the stars are aligned at a particular moment. Maybe the moment of his birth."

Will was more than a bit skeptical. He knew of soothsayers and fortune tellers, but he suspected they were mostly just tricksters. They preyed on people's uncertainties and told them only what they wanted to hear, and in exchange for this false hope, people gave them their hard-earned coin. Will labored to keep the disgust off his face as he studied the piece of parchment. He had to admit the diagram was not quite like an old woman reading the bite marks in your bread. It seemed more…scientific somehow, and aroused Will's curiosity.

"Does it really work?"

The other man shrugged. "Hard to say." He rolled up the parchment and thought for a long moment. "For every scholar who believes, there are two who think it's just nonsense." Father Guy scratched his beard thoughtfully. "The calculations are real enough, but whether they show a man's fate? That I do not know." He regarded Will thoughtfully. "I suspect you can tell more about a man just by looking at his face."

Will thought for a moment. There was some truth to that. It was his experience that you could learn a lot about people just by watching them. Still, he was intrigued. "And what does mine say about me?"

The old man did not speak for several minutes, instead looking from his own hands to Will and back again. "It is...difficult to say." He gave Will a searching gaze and then folded his hands back into his lap and fell silent.

Will tried to hide his disappointment and failed. "I wanted to know what you saw…just for fun."

The old man smiled, the expression both knowing and sad. "I know. But I think sometimes there are things about their own lives men should not see, even in their own faces."

"I...I don't understand."

"The future will be here soon enough. I think it's best if you wait patiently for it.

"I hope your wait is a very long one too. That would be better."

--

_Limassol, Cyprus_

_March 1195_

Djaq dug her feet into the sand, enjoying the way it squished between her toes. They had arrived at the port nearly a week before, but there were storms coming, and they could not find passage on any ships leaving for ports in France or Italy. At length, she and Will had stopped trying, realizing they were in no hurry and deciding to simply enjoy their journey.

Earlier in the day, they had finally bid farewell to Father Guy, who was heading inland to meet with the Frankish ruler of Cyprus. He did not elaborate what his business was, and they had not pressed him. They had their own secrets, and Father Guy was entitled to keep his own counsel.

Still, Djaq had felt an odd pang when the priest had left. He had been good company over the last days of their journey on the Little Cloud, sharing his wisdom and the accounts of his travels across Europe. He had met a great many important people, and his revelations about them were pointed and very witty. They had even learned a thing or two about the English king, Richard.

In exchange, Will and Djaq had shared their own accounts of life in England and in Acre, always skirting around their real identities and never mentioning Robin Hood and their outlaw status. To his credit, Father Guy had not asked them to share any personal details, content to let the matter rest after their initial refusal to answer his questions.

They sat on the beach, wrapped in their cloaks and eating a simple supper of bread and dried fruit and enjoying the moonlit cast of the sky and the sea. Behind them lay the ancient city, magnificent Greek ruins towering over much newer ruin—the spoils of a contest for power between the old Byzantine rulers of Cyprus and King Richard himself. Djaq had been surprised to learn that the king had been married here a few years earlier. She had never heard any mention of an English queen before, so this Berengaria of Navarre had been a complete mystery. Will too had been unaware, but in his simple way, the lack of knowledge had not bothered him and he had simply shrugged it off. Father Guy had eventually explained that he imagined the union was political, and with the king away from his own land, the news of it had not been spread and celebrated as it would ordinarily have been.

Djaq found herself wondering about this unknown English queen. Did she feel any special love for a land she had never seen? Would she be troubled by the plight of its people, especially as much of it was caused by her husband's absence? Aside from these questions, Djaq pitied the woman, because she was, in all likelihood, a pawn in a much larger game and had little control over her own destiny. She shivered, imagining this would have been her plight, had the war and death and slavery not intervened. It struck her suddenly that the greatest privations of her life had also led to the greatest happiness of her life. _Ya Allah, your work is a mystery and a miracle_.

Her fingers trailed over her stomach, as she began to wonder yet again at the miraculous nature of life. In all the hurry and bustle of leaving for England, she had not realized at first that she was late. It was only on board the ship to Cyprus that the thought of a child had first come to her. She had suppressed it then, not wanting to wish too much, only to be inevitably disappointed. Every day, she had waited for the telltale signs of her cycle, but they had not come, and her doubt had blossomed into hope. There was no way to be sure though, not just yet, and she decided not to tell Will until she could give him the news with fair certainty.

Djaq studied him now, his face half in darkness as he bent his head and whittled a small piece of wood. She gasped, utterly taken with how he looked in that moment, and he caught the sound and looked up at her.

"What?" He smirked. "Have I grown horns or something? You're staring."

Djaq shook her head. "It's just...you're...beautiful."

Will gave her a nervous laugh, and ducked his head, embarrassed. "No, I...well, you don't say that about men, do you?"

That broke the spell, and Djaq scoffed and rolled her eyes. "What are you doing?" she asked, gesturing at his project.

"Oh, this?" He held up a long and flat piece of wood with several knife marks scored into it at one end. "Father Guy showed me. It's a way to keep track of time when you're traveling." He passed her the wood. "See, every notch in the wood is a day, and if you make note of the day you started, you don't lose track of time, even if you're at sea for weeks."

Djaq smiled, finding the idea ingenious and yet so obvious that she was amazed neither of them had thought of it before. "It's brilliant."

Will beamed. "So we left Tyre on the 22nd of February, and we arrived here the first of March." He took the piece of wood back from her and counted the notches. "That means it's..." He stopped suddenly, and looked up at her in shock.

"Do you know what day it is today?"

She caught the expression on his face and understood immediately, cursing herself for having forgotten. "It's the 8th of March, isn't it?"

He nodded, a bemused expression on his face. "One year. To the day."

Djaq laughed and brought her hand to his cheek. "Happy anniversary, my love."

He did not answer, preferring to let his kiss do the talking, and that most ancient of feeling took over their minds and their bodies, in a conversation that lasted well into the night.

--

_Venice_

_Mid-March 1194_

Will leaned over the edge of the gondola and surveyed his surroundings, agog and wide-eyed. He had seen many a strange place in the last year, but Venice had to be the strangest of them all. When they had first arrived at the port here, Will was convinced he had finally reached the end of the world. There were more people just in the harbor than he had seen in his entire life anywhere.

They had arrived in Venice a day ago, and it had been none too soon for Djaq. She had been out of sorts, terribly seasick, for nearly the entire journey from Cyprus. He had been surprised at first, because he could not remember a time when Djaq had ever been ill. She also knew every sea remedy known to man, so it was a wonder that none of her herbs or potions seemed to make any difference. At first, he had not been too concerned. She ate when she was hungry and slept a great deal, but by the time they had made landfall, she could barely keep down even dry bread, and he had started to worry that she was seriously ill.

Her spirits had not lifted when they first arrived in Venice. They had walked off the ship and straight into a slave market near the harbor. Will had watched in horror as men openly bartered with each other for the right over another human soul. But Djaq had been indifferent, simply turning her back on the scene, squaring her shoulders and walking way. It had only been late that night, with the exhaustion of their travels and her own illness catching up with her that she had finally broken down and cried. Words, some reasonable, some hysterical, had poured out of her mouth for what seemed like hours. Will had been helpless to do more than just hold her and offer what comfort he could. He did not know if it helped, but eventually, she simply tired and fell asleep in his arms.

Will had stayed awake that night, silently railing at the world, and promising himself that nothing would ever happen to Djaq as long as he was with her. It had become his great resolve, his own crusade of sorts, but he did not share it with Djaq. She had many more things to be concerned about, and this new determination was for him alone. It coursed through his veins, like water through a river after the spring's thaw and gave him strength he'd never though he had.

For her part, Djaq had recovered most of her health and enough good humor in the past day or so that though she was still very tired and reluctant to eat, she no longer seemed to be so ill. More than that, she was nearly as awed by Venice as Will himself was.

He threaded his fingers through Djaq's and squeezed her hand, prompting her to look up at him and smile brightly. He returned the smile with equal joy, certain he had never been quite this happy in his entire life. He nudged Djaq and pointed out to the city.

Venice was just a series of rivers and streams, and it was these rivers and streams that connected one building to the next. Djaq had said they were called canals, but he suspected that was just a fancy word for a stream. The buildings themselves were extraordinary. They were ordinary wooden buildings for the most part, but as there was little land to build on, they seemed to have been built on the water itself. In the moonlight, the buildings looked like they were afloat.

"How do you think they do that?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide with fascination. "I have no idea. But it is the first time I have ever seen such a thing."

He nodded, and allowed himself to relax a little at the sight of her smiling and cheerful face. He sighed, content, for the moment, with his lot in life, and decided that at least for now, the rest of the world did not matter. There was only him and Djaq and this magical place, and that was enough.

But the world was not quite ready to leave him alone yet. A voice, speaking in English, cut through Will's euphoria.

"Pilings," the voice said. It belonged to a tall man standing next to Will. He was wearing a cloak of rich velvet and a hood obscured most of his face. In the darkness, Will could not make out the features, but the voice was eerily familiar, and Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Pilings. It's how they build the houses. They drive wooden pilings into the ground."

"I beg your pardon?" Djaq interrupted the stranger, keeping a note of annoyance in her voice, so he would be clear he was interrupting a private conversation.

The man put a hand to his chest, looking surprised, but overdoing it, so it was obvious the emotion was not sincere. It gave him away, because Will recognized the man immediately, and cautiously began to pull Djaq away.

The stranger held up a hand in apology, a gesture that seemed more sincere this time. "I'm sorry, my lady. I meant no rudeness." He paused and then, with an edge of mirth, he added, "but you have to admit, it's always interesting when we meet."

He doffed his hood, and the face of Geoffrey de Mandeville was revealed to Will and Djaq.

Will put himself between Geoffrey and Djaq. "I thought it might be you."

"Well, aren't you the clever one, Will Scarlett?"

Will cringed, not liking the way he was being mocked, or the slight hint of danger in Geoffrey's voice.

Geoffrey laughed, picking up on Will's fear. "You have nothing to be afraid of now though." He nodded his head politely in Djaq's direction. "And you never did have anything to fear from me, my lady. We met once...not just in Sherwood, but in Acre. Perhaps you remember?"

Djaq smiled in her own slightly dangerous way. "Yes. I do remember. And I know something of your other activities in our lands as well." Her hand tightened around Will's own, and he felt her strength and her support in it, making him want to stand taller.

Geoffrey shrugged. "I don't apologize for what I am." He gave Will a long look. "But I assure you, I pose no danger to you. Not anymore."

Will stiffened, trying to think of something clever to say, when Djaq came to his rescue.

"Why? Did the king sack you?" Her voice was soft, like honey, and Will knew she was trying to mentally skewer Geoffrey.

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow at her, and then scoffed. "What? Because I let Will go? He's not that important...not to the king anyway."

Will frowned, not bothering to speak the question on his mind. Geoffrey obliged by answering it anyway.

"Haven't you heard the news? The war's over."

Djaq gaped at Geoffrey, and Will gawked at her in turn. "What?" they said, in unison.

Geoffrey smiled, amused by their surprise. "Yes, three weeks ago, they called a truce." He nodded in Djaq's direction. "Your Sultan and the king will sign a treaty at Ramla in two months' time."

Djaq looked absolutely elated. Will could almost see the wheels in her mind turning as she considered the prospect of peace in her homeland. He put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.

Geoffrey caught the gesture and smiled, the expression almost sad. It made Will uncomfortable, so he dropped his arm and directed his attention to Geoffrey.

"Is that why you're here? In Venice?"

"Oh, no. I'm on my way to France, actually. I have...other matters to attend to."

Geoffrey scratched his chin thoughtfully. "But if I had to choose, I'd say Venice is the best place to be at a time like this. They'll be feasting and drinking here for weeks!"

Will felt Djaq relax next to him. She had obviously decided this man presented no danger, but Will was not so sure yet. He decided to keep his guard up, for both their sakes.

Geoffrey watched them quietly for a moment. "Indeed, I would love for you both to join me. I have a house in the city.

"It's not very big or very grand, but nearly every Englishman in the city passes through it at some point."

Djaq shook her head. "That is kind of you, but we are on our way north and out of the city." She took Will's hand and squeezed it gently. "We are on our way back to England, actually."

For the first time, Geoffrey managed a genuine look of surprise. "Really? Well, that's...where will you go?"

Djaq began to speak, but Will nudged her gently, a silent plea to keep quiet. She frowned and understood, letting Will speak instead.

Will chose to shrug instead of saying anything. Geoffrey waited for a moment or two, fixing Will with his gaze, but when he was met with only silence, he gave up. His shoulders slumped and he smiled at them sadly.

When he spoke again, his words were soft, and to Will's surprise, they were in Arabic.

_"Oh burden not thyself with drudgery,_

_Lord of white silver and red gold to be;_

_But feast with friends, ere this warm breath of thine_

_Be chilled in death, and earthworms feast on thee."_

Djaq gave Geoffrey a polite bow of the head, her own smile nearly as sad as Geoffrey's. Even though Will had not understood the words, he could finally see Geoffrey clearly. He was learned, he was rich and he held the fate of men in his hands. But for all that, he had no one to call a friend.

His anger and fear of Geoffrey fell away, and a deep sadness took its place. He took Djaq's hand and turned them both away from Geoffrey and to the other end of the craft. She gave him an odd look, but at length, she understood and snuggled into his shoulder.

"I am glad the war is over."

Will nodded. "Me too. It's made too many lonely men."

--

_Reims, France_

_Mid-April 1195_

The journey through France was wonderful. They had arrived overland from Venice, traveling through the southern reaches of the Holy Roman Emperor's domain. Djaq had spent much of the voyage utterly fascinated by everything around her. The cities had names that she had only ever seen in books, or heard in the speech of travelers and scholars, and the countryside, breaking out of the spell of winter, was awash with the first signs of spring. There were new-leaved woods, grass turning slowly green in the meadows, and on the trees, tiny fresh buds that would bear fruit later in the year.

They had traveled with various merchant trains where nobody seemed to pay an Englishman and his Saracen woman much attention. They paid for the privilege of traveling in wains or carts for part of the way, and Djaq had been pleased about this, because walking the entire way would have been too exhausting.

It was nearly two months since they had left the Holy Land, and now, with no sign of her monthly cycle, Djaq was certain she was pregnant. She could not think of any other explanation for the other things either; her terrible moods, the nausea, the constant hunger and the near-deathly exhaustion. Although she would have preferred to have her suspicions confirmed by a physician or a midwife, she was as sure as she could be, given her own meager knowledge of the subject.

She had not yet told Will the news, although she was not certain why she was keeping it from him. There had been many chances to tell him, several moments when she had the perfect opportunity. But at the last, when the words were nearly out of her mouth, she had fallen silent. She could not quite explain it yet, not even to herself. But she felt some strange bond with her unborn child, a feeling that warmed her and whispered to her that it was hers alone. She wanted to savor that feeling a little longer, before, inevitably, she would have to share the secret—and the child—with the world.

Their days passed easily, roaming through the countryside with few cares in the world. On this journey, they were neither physician nor carpenter, neither noblewoman nor peasant, neither the law nor outlaws. They were simply two young lovers, traveling the world hand-in-hand, taking in its pleasures and giving back what they could.

They ate simply, buying food when they found it, and foraging for it when they could not. At first, they had splurged on lodgings, finding an inn to sleep in every night. But as their journey continued, this seemed like a waste of precious coin, and once the weather began to warm a little, they took to sleeping outside, huddled under their cloaks, clutching each other for warmth, making love under the stars.

But as they reached the border between Germany and France, when the hilly countryside fell away into the verdant valleys of the Oise and Seine, the rains came. It poured steadily for nearly a fortnight, impeding their progress and forcing them indoors. In larger towns, there were inns and even taverns that would take them in, but in small villages, they were forced to rely on the kindness of strangers who offered up shelter, when they could, when their curiosity over an Englishman and his exotic companion did not get in the way.

This time, outside the town of Reims, a kind carter had allowed them the use of his barn, and so it was that Djaq and Will found themselves lying in a hayloft, not far from where the carter's horses were stabled for the night.

They had run in from the rain, both drenched to the bone and shivering, only to discover the barn had no kindling for a fire or even a lantern to use for light. They'd had to rely on a tiny sliver of moonlight coming through a hole in the roof. Rain water poured through it like a waterfall, and Djaq laughed. On another day, she might have found their situation lamentable, but now, with joy and hope aflame in her heart, it was hard to see it as anything but amusing.

Will raised an eyebrow at her. "What?!"

She laughed again, this time at the site of Will, his hood plastered to his head with streams of water running off it. He looked at once miserable and adorable.

"You...you are..." She could not finish as another set of giggles took over, leaving Djaq wondering why she was feeling so silly all of a sudden.

Will shrugged, as if to say there were some things about Djaq he would never really understand. He pulled back his hood and frowned at her.

"You're going to catch your death. You should get out of those clothes."

She arched an eyebrow. "Is that a suggestion? Or an invitation?"

Will reddened predictably and looked away for a moment before meeting her eyes. "Both, really."

Djaq grinned, and pulled off her boots and cloak, inviting Will to do the same. Her shirt was sopping wet though, and she was having a hard time getting it off completely. Will chuckled and reached over to help her, his fingers flattening against her belly as he did.

She gasped and brushed his hand away, worried he had guessed at her secret. He looked at her in shock, and then retreated. "I'm sorry. I just thought...did I hurt you?"

Djaq shook her head, worry turning to misery at the thought she might have hurt his feelings. "No, Will. It is not that." She hesitated, wanting to hold on to something was just for her, for just a moment longer. But Will deserved to know, to share in her joy.

She squared her shoulders and spoke as directly as she could. "I am not bleeding."

"What?" He frowned in confusion, and then, worried, he clutched her shoulders. "What does that mean? Are you hurt? When did—?"

"No, Will. Listen." She shrugged off his arms. "I have not bled. At all. Not since we left Acre."

"Oh." He still seemed confused, but after a moment or two more, comprehension dawned. "Oh!" His face broke into a smile, hesitant at first. But she reached out and took his hand, this time bringing it to her stomach herself, and Will's grin widened.

"Really? You're sure?"

Djaq nodded. "Yes. But I'd like to see a doctor when we get home. Or maybe Matilda in Locksley."

Will grinned again, his hand still on her stomach, eyes dancing in wonderment. "When?"

She frowned, uncertain. "Not sure. It must have been that night when—"

Will's face had turned nearly the color of his name, but he shook his head. "No, not that. I mean, when do you think the baby will come?"

"Oh." It was Djaq's turn to be embarrassed, and she looked away for a moment, trying to recover her composure. "In the autumn, I think. Sometime before your Christmas."

"Good." He ran his fingers along her forehead and then down her cheek, cupping it in his hand. "This is a wonderful thing, isn't it?" His gaze was intense as he stared down at her, and she stared back at him in wonderment at her own joy, not halved but doubled over the shared secret.

She leaned into his touch and pressed her mouth softly to his. "Yes. Wonderful," she whispered.

--

_Peterburg (now Peterborough), England_

Mid-May 1195

Will's feet had barely touched the ground since the tiny craft that brought them over the sea had made landfall at Portsmouth. That had been a fortnight ago, and they had made their way steadily north, keeping a quick pace even though they had traveled mostly on foot. He would soon be back in Sherwood forest, among all that was familiar and beloved, and Will's heart raced ahead, even as his feet struggled to keep up.

Left to his own devices, Will would have just kept going, but it was late in the day, and Djaq was clearly exhausted, although she never admitted to any such thing. Will's repeated efforts to get her to slow down had been shrugged off. Still, he persisted, knowing that it was Djaq's way to keep pushing herself, but worried that she might be doing herself more harm than good.

They were in the town of Oxford when Will took the matter out of Djaq's hands. He stopped under a tree in the city square, crossed his arms and gave her a look of mock defiance. "You know, I think we should just stay here tonight."

Djaq shrugged. "I am not tired. We could go on a little further."

"Well, I _am_. And you really do need to get more rest."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You promised you would not do this. Treat me like a child, just because I'm having a baby."

Will shrugged. "I'm not." He pointed at the village square, dominated by the town cathedral. "Besides, I really want to see this." A group of minstrels and gleemen had gathered, ready to put on a performance. The villagers crowded around, excited and chattering, with small children clinging to their mothers' skirts and craning their necks to get a better look.

Will joined the crowd, pulling Djaq in with him. She had an indulgent look on her face. It was the same expression she used when Allan or Much told a story she knew was untrue, but she wanted to humor them by giving the tale her full attention. Will laughed at the thought, and his heart soared to know he would be with those people very soon.

The minstrels' tale was one that Will had heard before—of King Arthur, his bride Guinevere and his knight Lancelot, but it was all new to Djaq. She seemed surprised by how good the minstrels were, and she listened with rapt attention, clapping and joining in the excited chorus of yells and exclamations from the villagers. Her reactions left Will both amused and sad that he had never told her these tales himself.

When it was over and the performers had collected their coin and their accolades, Djaq strung her arm through his, content but still curious.

"That was very interesting. Are all your English tales like this?"

He chuckled. "Like what?"

"Like this one. Full of sentiment and romance, and yet, not very noble somehow."

Will frowned, not sure what she was getting at. "How so? King Arthur is quite noble. In the ways that matter anyway."

"Yes, I suppose he is. But think about it. He has a loving wife and a loyal knight. He puts his trust in them and they betray him. That is not very noble, is it?"

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe. But they all get what they deserve in the end, don't they?"

Djaq gave him a curious look. "Is that what you think a story should be about?"

"I...I don't know," he answered uncertainly, with the growing suspicion that her question was not about the story at all, but about something else. Or someone else. "Stories ought to be like real life, I think.

"Why don't you tell me a Saracen story? Maybe I can explain English stories better, if I have something to compare with."

She became thoughtful, but shook her head. "Our stories are not like yours. We like to hear about honor and duty, and maybe even wit. But our love stories usually end badly."

Most of the crowd had departed, and the sun was just beginning to set behind the church. Djaq laughed, the sound a bit nervous in the silence around them. "See? It is good that some stories are not like real life!"

Will laughed, and took her hand in his, worried by her sudden nervousness, and trying to dispel any uncertainty she had about love, or at least his love.

"Maybe they'll write about us one day..."

Her answering smirk was more amused than doubtful, making Will let out a sigh of relief. "Oh? 'The English Carpenter and the Saracen Healer?' Or something a bit more poetic, perhaps?"

"No, I mean all of us. About Robin."

"Oh." Djaq nodded. "Yes, Robin's exploits are certainly worthy of minstrel song." She kissed his cheek gently. "You will be famous one day, Will Scarlett."

He reddened, and tried to shrug off her flattery. "And you too."

"Oh, I do not think so, Will. Robin Hood's tale is an English one, and there will be no place for me in it."

Her voice was matter-of-fact, but the notion that Robin's story had no place for Djaq troubled Will and dampened his happiness over their impending arrival in Sherwood Forest.

"Don't say that. You're in the story too. You have to be."

She patted his arm gently. "You are wonderful. But it does not matter to me. Besides, men write history, and they never write about women.

"Except when women are deceitful and faithless." She smirked at him. "Like your Queen Guinevere."

Will grinned, pleased at her cleverness, but not quite ready to concede the argument. "Maybe not minstrel song. But someone will write about you, I'm sure of it.

"Father Guy maybe."

She frowned. "Father Guy? Why would he write about me?"

"I don't know. But he did ask me a lot of things about you." They had been walking, but Will slowed down and nearly stopped. "I didn't tell him anything, but I didn't know much anyway."

"You know all the important things. That is enough."

Will nodded, aware that she was avoiding the question, but loathe to push her in any way.

"What did he want to know?"

"Oh, just simple things. Where you were from, about your family."

"Hmm." Djaq fell silent, a shadow on her face. He cursed himself for prompting her to think about the things that saddened her; the Holy Land, the loved ones she had lost, and the land she had left behind.

"Listen, Djaq..."

"You know, I never realized before that you did not know those things about me."

"I know some of it."

She seemed not to hear him as she continued. "My family is not originally from Acre, but from a place very far away from there.

"Many years ago, there was a great earthquake. Hundreds of people died, but my grandfather—he was only a young boy then--he somehow escaped and made his way to Acre. And to his fortune."

She smiled at Will. "And the rest is history, as they say."

"What's the name of this place?"

"Aleppo. Or Halab. It's why my name is Al-Halabi."

Will corrected her gently. "Scarlett."

"What?"

"Your name. It's Scarlett now."

She frowned at him, and then patted his hand and smiled. "That is sweet. But you should know it is not Saracen custom for a woman to change her name when she marries."

He thought to tell her that Saracen custom did not really matter, considering they were in England now, and here, she would have his name. But he did not want to do anything to stir Djaq's ambivalence about returning to England, so he kept his silence.

The silence was short-lived however, as they were interrupted by a low growling sound. Djaq gave him a sheepish smile.

"That was my stomach, Will. I am very hungry."

--

_Somewhere in Sherwood Forest_

A week later

Until they arrived at the edge of the forest, Djaq had not realized how much of woodcraft she had forgotten in just the year she had been away from this place. All the trees, once familiar markers along twisted wooded trails, seemed exactly the same now, nothing to distinguish one from the other. She felt nearly as lost as she had been in her first weeks with Robin's gang.

To her chagrin, Will had adjusted to the forest as if he had never been gone. He had a knack for walking almost soundlessly over leaves and twigs, becoming almost a shadow as they traveled through the woods. He also seemed to pick up on trail markers and patterns more quickly than she did, falling into his old ways almost instantly.

She sighed, and dismissed the vague feeling of foreboding that had started to grow in her mind since their arrival in England. She was not sure why, but after having built up the vision of England in her mind so much, the reality of their return had been somewhat disappointing. The feeling was all the more strange because England itself seemed unchanged in their absence. The roads, the food, the people, everything was just as it had been when they had left this place and rushed to Portsmouth, chasing their hopes and dreams as if to the ends of the world.

Last night, as they had slept under the stars outside some tiny village in Leicestershire, her dreams had returned with great force. The green men had been relentless in their pursuit, and though she had held fast to the desert spirit's hand, he let her go just as the onslaught became unbearable. She had been forced to flee into a dark and unknown place, one with no aid or comfort.

As always, she had been jarred awake from the dream, and it had left her feeling disturbed and listless. But the day had dawned bright and clear, and Will's elation at being so close to Sherwood Forest had rubbed off on her, making her abandon the foul mood as quickly as she could.

Now, she watched Will out of the corner of her eye, looking for any sign on his face that they had found a path to the camp. If she could not read the forest yet, she was certain she could read Will, and right now, that was nearly as useful.

Will was kneeling on the ground, peering through some low-hanging branches, probably at a forest path Djaq had not even recognized. He whispered something and beckoned her over, pushing the branches aside as he pointed.

They were looking at a forest clearing near the edge of a village and at an old barn that looked like it had been abandoned a few months before.

Will had an odd look on his face. "Do you know where we are?"

She nodded, awed and surprised. "Nettlestone. The barn."

He said nothing, but gave her his hand to help her back to her feet. He met her eyes, gaze so intense it made her breath catch in her throat. Djaq barely felt his fingers on her face as he cupped her cheek and spoke softly.

"I don't know what possessed you to say the things you did that day. But I'm so glad you did."

She laid the flat of her hand against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart but unable to find words to match the moment. She leaned her head against his shoulder, liking the strength of his arms, the warmth of his breath against her hair.

But instead of embracing her, he stiffened, pushing her away a little. She looked up at him in question, but he was looking away and into the forest.

She understood immediately. "Guards? How many? From where?"

"Castle guards. Two, maybe three."

Djaq nodded and pulled away, her mind racing with ideas for how to get away. Will's reaction was nearly the same, but he seemed to be a step ahead of her.

"Listen, Djaq. I'll lure them away, going that way. You head to the tree, the Great Oak, where we keep the weapons. You remember? Wait for me there."

"No, I will not let you go off on your own."

"Trust me, Djaq. If we both go the same way, we'll both get caught. And I don't want that. Not for you."

"Will..."

"There's no time. I'm going. I'll see you soon." He clutched her hand, and then dropped it. "I promise I'll be back."

Before Djaq could protest, Will had run off. He made sure to make as much noise as possible and draw attention to himself, and sure enough, two guards on horseback began to chase him up a narrow woodland trail, veering well away from the underbrush where Djaq was hiding.

She watched Will and the guards until they dipped into a ravine and she could not see them any more. She tried to orient herself in the forest, with only the sun to provide direction. It took a while, but the forest soon began to resolve itself into familiar shapes and locations. She remembered the way Little John had taught her to mark trees on a trail so she would remember the path later; she remembered strangely shaped rocks and the stories Allan told about them; she remembered the little mnemonic Robin had taught her for remembering the names of the villages they visited. As her memories came back to her, the forest began to feel more like an old childhood home than the forbidding darkness of her dreams.

Buoyed by her growing knowledge, she began to walk faster, marking off the trail in her mind. Worry for Will pricked at the back of her mind, but she shoved it away, reminding herself that he had promised to return. Besides, even though she had been loathe to admit it, his suggestion had been more practical than hers. He would be back, she was certain of it.

More than two hours later, Djaq found herself at the massive oak tree Will had reminded her about, but there was no sign of him. In fact, from the looks of the leaves around the tree, nobody had been there in some time. The trunk of the tree had been hollowed out, and made up one of Robin's many weapons caches around the forest. She dipped her hand in, trying to find the clever lever Will had built to hide the weapons from casual intruders.

Her hand closed around a wooden handle, and her heart thrilled at the discovery. But just as she was about to pull on it, she felt the cold press of steel against her neck.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

A voice sneered at her, eerily familiar, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She looked up the blade of the sword and over the gloved hand that held it, straight into the face of Guy of Gisborne.

--

_Notes:_

_Guy de Bazoches, the traveler Will and Djaq encounter in this story, was a real person. He was part of the retinue of Henry II of Champagne, a well-known poet and a chronicler of the Third Crusade. I have to assume he didn't find Will and Djaq worthy of writing about. _

_The verse recited by The Fool in Venice is from the Whinfield translation of Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat, verse 202. _

_Finally, I tried to be as accurate as possible with respect to how long it would have taken to make a journey from Tyre to Nottingham in the 12__th__ century, but at some point, I started to mess with the details a little bit. I also tried to incorporate as much real history as possible, but the show's timeline breaks the historical one, and I've just thrown my hands up now, lol. _


	24. Chapter 24: England

**England**

Guy of Gisborne laughed, a cold and hollow sound that shred the air around them. Djaq stiffened, drawing herself up, and refusing to be intimidated by him. But the point of the sword was starting to press into her skin, and fear, usually a distant and fleeting feeling, began to cloud her rational mind.

"Hood's Saracen, isn't it?" He seemed to be enjoying baiting her. "You're a long way from any camp of yours..."

Gisborne let up on the blade, moving it away from her throat. Djaq backed away slowly, putting a few inches of distance between them. But he was still very close, and still holding the sword as if he meant to attack her.

There was a smirk on Gisborne's face, an expression she had seen before. It was the look men had when they had won a small victory but had not considered what their next move would be. It was a male weakness, a chink in the armor, and that realization gave Djaq new strength. It would not take long to extricate herself from this Gisborne's clutches.

She put on her most imperious manner. "What do you want?"

The smirk stayed in place, but his stance changed, became more defensive. Behind him, his horse whinnied, sensing the change in Gisborne's mood. "I don't think you're really in a position to ask questions." He stabbed the air with the sword, forcing Djaq to jump back a little.

Gisborne laughed, obviously enjoying baiting her. "I didn't come here looking for you, but now that I have you..." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I may have some use for you yet."

He grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her ahead of him, making her walk at swordpoint for several hundred yards while he led the horse. They arrived at a small copse of trees several hundred yards from the Great Oak. The leaf cover here was thick, and except for one blinding beam of sunlight, the place was dark.

Gisborne shoved Djaq to the ground, sheathed his sword and dug a hand into his saddle bag. After a few moments, he produced a length of old rope, the triumphant smirk returning to his face. At the thought of being bound, Djaq recoiled, and fear returned in full force. She considered running, on the off-chance that Gisborne would not pursue her. But it was too risky. He was armed, and her life was not the only one at stake now.

Gisborne reached over and grabbed one of her wrists roughly, but at the moment when she thought he would bind her hands, he stopped. He gave her an odd look, dropped the coil of rope on the ground and released her hand.

Djaq's relief was only temporary, however. Gisborne's sword sang out of its scabbard, and he brandished it at her, face all spite and menace. "Take the reins of the horse. I will ride, and you will walk next to me.

"And don't try to be clever. Or there will be hell to pay." He shoved her closer to the horse for good measure. "Do you understand?"

Djaq said nothing, preferring to keep her silence as she tried to work out an escape strategy. Her mind went through a few scenarios, but she quickly realized she could not escape this man by herself. _Where is Will? Why isn't he back yet?_

They walked for nearly half an hour, Djaq leading the horse by the reins with Gisborne occasionally prodding her with the blunt edge of his blade. At some point, she became aware that Gisborne was making her walk the horse in a large circle, and this confused her. He did not appear to actually be leading her back to the castle, at any rate.

The afternoon sun was now high in the sky, and Djaq was beginning to tire from the effort of leading horse and rider. She sighed deeply, and Gisborne, in an unexpected show of sympathy, made her stop. He mumbled something about resting and watering the horse and got down, yanking the reins out of her hand. He pushed her to the ground, admonishing her to stay down until he was done.

She watched him pull out some grains for the horse's feed, and began to think of ways to divert his attention. The easiest way would be to start a fire, of course. There was not much light in this part of the forest, but with a little effort, she would be able to focus the rays just enough to get a few sparks going.

She began to extract the lens from the pocket of her cloak, but Gisborne caught the movement and was in front of her in an instant, sword frighteningly close to Djaq's chest.

"I told you not to try anything!" He noted the hand in her pocket, and raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you have a knife or something?"

Djaq shook her head, but just as she was about to demur, an idea came to her. She pulled the lens out of her pocket and held it out to him.

Gisborne stared at it, but did not move to touch it. "What is it?"

"It is a lens, an instrument for the eye." She considered her words carefully. "It would fetch a very nice price at market."

"I doubt it. Doesn't look like it would be good for anything."

Djaq glared at him, her anger not entirely feigned. "You are wrong. It is a very useful thing.

"For example, you can start a fire using just this lens. No tinder, no firewood."

Gisborne frowned, obviously intrigued. "How? Show me."

Djaq resisted the urge to smile. This was just the opening she had been waiting for, and it amazed her that her scheme had fallen into place so quickly.

She pointed near the place where Gisborne stood, feeding the horse out of his hand. "I need to be there, where you are. I need better sunlight."

Gisborne said nothing, but did not stop her when she knelt down near the horse's front haunches. She sent a silent apology to the horse. You are one of Allah's great creatures, and I have no intention of hurting you, but I must do this.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, the lens caught the beam of light, and the leaves on the forest floor, dry from the heat of the early summer, begin to smolder and crackle. A flame blazed to life, much too close to the horse's front legs. It panicked and kicked wildly, surprising Gisborne, as one of its legs caught him nearly in the face. He stumbled and fell awkwardly, hitting the back of his head hard on the shallow roots of a tree behind him.

The horse ran away at full gallop before Djaq could act. She watched it run into the woods and then turned back to Gisborne. He had dropped his sword, and she picked it up now, hefting it. It was too heavy for Djaq to wield properly, but it would come in handy if she needed to defend herself again.

She was about to turn and run when she took one last look at Gisborne, to ensure he was not about to get up and attack her. That was when she noticed the tiny trickle of blood from the back of his head.

--

Guy of Gisborne came to slowly, blurred images resolving themselves into the shapes of the forest as his mental faculties struggled to catch up with his vision.

He was on the ground and propped up against a tree, and in the distance, he could just make out his horse, tethered far away. It hoofed the ground and looked properly chastised. _Serves him right, ridiculous beast. _

He tried to stand up, but a wave of dizziness got the better of him, and he sank back to his haunches. Gisborne's head throbbed, but the pain was more of a dull constant than the sharp agony of a battle wound.

"You should not do that." The voice was soft but commanding, as if it were reprimanding him. He looked up to see Hood's Saracen sitting across from him.

"You! You did this to me." He lunged for her, but could not get up quickly enough and fell down again in a heap.

She smiled in a triumphant sort of way. "Yes. But some of the credit is due to your horse as well. If he had not kicked you..."

So that was what had happened. All he could remember was agreeing to let the woman show him the lens she carried, and then after that, only blackness.

"Did you scare the horse? On purpose?"

The Saracen shrugged. "No. But I suppose I was hoping that he would act true to his nature."

It was a clever idea, one that he would not have thought of in the same circumstance. He allowed a small smile and a bow of his head to acknowledge her wit.

"That was smart. But if you were really smart, you would have run away."

She shook her head. "No." Her tone was matter-of-fact, and she did not elaborate.

He tried to provoke her, annoyed by her calm in the face of an obvious enemy. "Are you so certain I won't attack you?"

She inclined her head at him, looking far more amused than she had any right to be. "You could. But I have this." She lifted his sword off the ground and casually hefted it from one hand to the other. It was clearly too heavy for her, but she hid the effort gamely, and Gisborne was impressed, despite everything.

He ventured on, certain he could draw her ire, if nothing else. "You are even less clever than I imagined." He guffawed loudly to send home the message. "You had my weapon. You should have cut my throat."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and he settled back in satisfaction, pleased he had at least managed to unsettle her. But to his surprise, she laughed.

"Well, Guy of Gisborne." His name sounded almost like an insult when she spoke it. "That is the difference between you and me.

"Besides, I would not want you to bleed to death, for surely, you are not meant to die at my hands."

Gisborne scoffed. "No, indeed. It would be much better if you delivered me to Hood. I'm sure he'd be glad to take my head."

She said nothing, but continued to smile in an odd and triumphant way that made Gisborne want to reach out and strangle her, get the upper hand somehow. But he counseled himself to patience. He had a piece of information about her he did not have before, and it would be leverage enough, when he needed it.

He stretched his legs and tried to stand, ignoring the woman's protests. But a wave of dizziness caught him and forced him back on to his rear.

She frowned and leaned towards him, bringing her hands to his head. Gisborne recoiled and pushed her away.

"Don't touch me!"

She looked momentarily alarmed but moved away nonetheless. She gave him a long hard look, but said nothing, preferring to sit back on her haunches. She looked away, beyond where he was sitting, and soon only silence lay between them. Gisborne shifted, uncomfortable with himself and the situation, but ultimately, exhaustion took over and he felt sleep take over his limbs and eyes.

Gisborne was just beginning to see the edges of a dream, a landscape of light and air and without even the trace of a shadow, when he was jostled rudely awake by a kick to the shins.

It was the Saracen. "Stay awake! You have taken a bad hurt to your head. This might not be sleep. It could be your body shutting down."

Gisborne swore under his breath. "Fine. I won't sleep." He gestured broadly. "Why don't you keep me awake? Talk to me."

"About what?"

He shrugged, trying to hide his interest. "I don't really care. I might not even listen. Tell me one of those stories you Saracens are so famous for. Your Saracen Nights, or whatever you call them."

She snorted but said nothing, choosing to stand at attention in front of him, his sword held steadily in one hand.

"Why are you here?"

She frowned. "I told you. I did not want to leave you with—"

"No, I mean, here. In England. With Hood," he spat.

She narrowed her eyes at him and did not answer right away. Eventually, she shrugged and gave him what sounded like a stock answer.

"He saved me from a terrible fate. He has earned my respect, and I stay with Robin and his men because of that. Because of loyalty—"

"Loyalty?" He scoffed. "What would Hood know about loyalty?"

"More than you."

Gisborne bristled, disliking her tone, and resenting the comparison to his rival. "I am loyal to those who have earned my loyalty. What has Richard ever done to deserve Hood's?"

The Saracen looked a bit surprised at this, but said nothing, shaking her head instead.

"He pays tribute to an absent king, to a man who hides behind Rome's pulpit while his people suffer."

The woman crossed her arms and glared at him. "So you would let this Prince John take over? Usurp the rightful ruler?"

"And who made him the rightful ruler?" Gisborne mocked her, challenged her knowledge of history. "Did Hood ever tell you how Richard came to be king?" He paused, waiting for the words to sink in.

"He tried to overthrow his father, the old king. The rightful king."

She gaped at him, her surprise now obvious. But after a moment or two, her face became impassive once again, and Gisborne marveled at her ability to control her emotions. _I must learn how she does that. A very useful talent indeed. _

He wanted to push her further, goad her into showing some sort of emotion again. It gave him a rush, a feeling that he still had power over the lives of others.

"And what of your own loyalty? You are a Saracen, and you owe allegiance to your ruler, to the Turk."

"Yes, I do. But I do not see how that is—"

"When Hood wins, Richard wins. And if Richard wins, the Turk loses. Every time you help Hood..." Gisborne let his voice trail off, satisfied he had made his point. The annoying calm on the Saracen's face was gone, replaced by a slight frown as she sat down, leaving the sword on the ground next to her.

She fixed him with her gaze and Gisborne met it evenly for a moment. But he sensed she was studying him, trying to learn him, and he did not like it. He looked away quickly, but not before he caught the first signs of a smirk on her face.

"It is not just loyalty that keeps me in Robin's gang."

Gisborne scoffed, trying to hide his displeasure at her small victory. "What else then?"

"I admire Robin. I respect him. Not for his courage or his skill with a bow. But for his compassion, his mercy—"

"Mercy? You count that more important than loyalty?" Gisborne was appalled. "Surely you don't find loyalty and mercy to be equal."

"No, not equal. Mercy is much better than loyalty.

"You can command a man's loyalty at the point of your sword. He will do your bidding, because he fears you.

"One day, he stops fearing, and starts living. And that day, he is no longer loyal."

The Saracen had a faraway look in her eyes, and Gisborne was not even certain she was still speaking of Hood.

She went on. "But if you show a man mercy, even just once, he will always remember it. Always."

"Is that why Hood is merciful? So he'll be...remembered?"

"No. He shows mercy because...he can."

"It's that simple, is it?"

"Yes, that simple."

She stopped talking and her words began to sink in. To Gisborne, they had the echo of words he'd heard from another woman, long ago...

He shook his head. He would not think of that. It was long gone, along with everything else that had once mattered to him. Now there was only this, and there was still work to do.

The Saracen's attention had shifted away from him, and her eyes were scanning the clearing, as if she were waiting for someone. Gisborne considered that the rest of Hood's gang might be out looking for her. _I have to act quickly._

He leaned forward, stretching his arms and legs out. The movement caught the Saracen's attention, but she did not move to stop him.

"They're just pretty words, you know. Mercy...compassion," he spat. "That's not why you're with Hood. "

She frowned at him, and he used her confusion to move forward, the sword just a few inches from his fingertips now.

He played his words out a bit more. "You've formed an attachment to Hood, haven't you?" She seemed surprised, so he laughed and pushed harder. "More than an attachment, really."

His hand was nearly around the haft of the sword, and still, she did not seem to realize he was about to get the upper hand.

"You're with child, aren't you?"

The Saracen looked taken aback, almost alarmed. "How did you—?"

Gisborne did not let her finish. Before she could react, he had the sword in his hands. She leapt away from him in alarm, but he lunged forward and grabbed her by the arms, and twisted them behind her, bringing the sword quickly to her neck.

He breathed heavily, panting from the exertion of the attack. But whatever threats he had meant to speak slipped from his mind when he felt the unmistakable sensation of sharp metal against his back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Gisborne."

--

Will's heart hammered in his chest as he held the axe hard against Gisborne's back. Cold fury rushed through his veins, and he fought hard against the impulse to drive his blade through the other man's flesh.

"Let her go."

Djaq struggled against Gisborne, her feet shuffling impotently on the ground. Although Will couldn't see her face, he imagined she was in agony, and he felt a sharp pain in his chest at the thought. He had left her all alone in the forest, and all this was his fault. He cursed himself roundly as the blade began to bite into the leather of Gisborne's surcoat.

"Let her go. She's just a woman." He apologized silently to Djaq for the affront to her gender. "She's no use to you. Let her go."

"Let her go?" Gisborne sneered. "Why would I do that? She could be useful."

He loosened his hold on Djaq just a little, and Will caught the beginnings of a smirk on Gisborne's face.

"Then again, maybe I should let her go. Take you instead. One of Robin Hood's men."

Will said nothing, tacitly agreeing to be captured, if that was what it took to get Djaq her freedom.

Gisborne gave him an odd look, and then turned his attention back to Djaq. "Ah, so it's not Hood, after all. You're with this one, are you?" He clucked his tongue.

"For shame, woman. He's only a boy."

Djaq tried to lash out at Gisborne, but he tightened his hold on her, and she cried out in pain.

Will's heart sank. He was going to have to move quickly to save her.

"Let her go. Take me instead."

Gisborne frowned at Will and shook his head. Will used the opening to swing the axe at Gisborne, hoping to catch him unawares. But Gisborne was alert, and surprisingly quick. Abruptly, his sword left Djaq's neck and she dropped limply to the ground. Distracted, Will moved to help her up, but Gisborne knocked the axe out of his hand. Will felt his feet leave the air, as Gisborne knocked him over and pinned him down to the ground.

He hissed at Will. "Stupid to do that for a woman. They just lie to you, fill your head with ideas, give you hope. Then they trample all over you and break your heart."

Will smirked. "No. Because she's not like that. And I'm not like you!"

Will waited with bated breath for Gisborne's next move, but to his surprise, the man said nothing. Instead, he seemed to be straining to hear something.

Will pushed at Gisborne with his arms, struggling to free himself, even as he saw Djaq get more and more alarmed. In a second, it became clear what Gisborne and Djaq had already noticed. Will could hear the hooves of two horses, still distant, but unmistakable.

"Those will be my men, come to find me.

"Won't they be surprised when they discover what I found in the forest?"

The thought they were about to be captured made Will's blood run cold. But he—they–had not come all the way back to England for it to end this way. They had to make a run for it somehow.

He cast about for something clever to say that would distract Gisborne long enough for at least Djaq to get away. But before he could speak the words, Gisborne surprised him by letting him go.

Gisborne shoved him towards Djaq. "Run, get out of here."

"What?!"

"You fool, aren't you listening? Don't get caught, run. Take your woman to safety. Now!"

Gisborne's words rang out over the clearing. His voice allowed for no disagreement. Will grabbed his axe and looked to Djaq for their next move.

She nodded weakly, and Will clasped her hand and began to run away from the clearing. The hoof sounds were much closer now, and they were almost out of the clearing and into the wood when Djaq stopped.

She called out to Gisborne. "Why? Why are you letting us go?"

Gisborne laughed. "Because I'm not...entirely without gratitude."

He paused and nodded his head in Djaq's direction. "And because...I can. Now, GO!"

--

They ran as fast as they could, as far away as they could, leaving the sound of horses and metal behind, until Will's legs gave way and he sank to the ground.

Djaq watched him in dismay, worried he'd injured himself in the scuffle with Gisborne. She crouched down next to him, her arm around his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Will?"

He was panting and did not answer. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, clutching her so tightly it almost hurt. "I thought you...that he was going to...oh God, Djaq."

His voice trailed off, but Djaq could feel his agony and his fear, and it broke her heart. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back until the tension left him and he relaxed into her arms.

"Everything will be alright, Will." She cupped his face in her hands, and forced him to look at her. "We are safe now, yes?"

He nodded slowly. "I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again."

She smiled at him, pouring all her confidence and reassurance into the gesture. "Let us go now, and find the others."

He got up and dusting leaves and dirt off his clothes, he held a hand out to her. "Let's go home."

They made their way slowly back to where the outlaws' camp was. Every now and then, Will would mark a tree with his knife, just to make sure they were not walking around in circles. Djaq stifled her amusement at the fact that Will did not seem to know his way around this part of the forest any better than she did, although he hid it well.

The sun was almost gone and darkness had begun to fall by the time Will found the trip lever for the camp door. It was, as always, buried under layers of dirt and leaves carefully arranged to look like they had been there forever.

Will smiled in a triumphant sort of way when he found it, but his expression turned to a frown when the lever stuck. He pushed harder with both his hands and after a bit of a struggle, the door to the camp creaked open. Will gave her a sidelong glance, looking just a bit worried.

He pushed her behind him, over her sounds of protest. "You don't have a weapon. There might be someone here."

Djaq chuckled. "What? Is Little John going to jump out and attack me?"

Will did not answer, stepping gingerly into the entrance. After a few moments, he beckoned her inside and shut the door.

It was darker inside than she remembered, and much smaller. Djaq ventured inside, finding Much's kitchen strangely clean. And quite empty.

She frowned and chanced a look at Will. He was standing where his bunk once would have been, shuffling his feet.

"They're not here." His voice was small, deeply disappointed. "They don't use it anymore."

Djaq watched him sit heavily on the ground, looking defeated and impossibly young. She wanted to say something that would reassure him, but she felt nearly as disappointed as he did.

"Will..."

He shook his head. "No, I'm alright. It's just...I thought everything would still be the same. Like before." He gave her a small, sad smile. "But that's stupid, right? Everything is different now."

She looked up and saw the first stars in the night sky through a tiny chink in the leafy ceiling of the camp, trying to dispel her own melancholy. It could not be that they had come all this way for nothing. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, but she brushed them aside defiantly. There was no looking back, there would be no regrets. There was only this life, and this man, and this woman.

Resolved not to let sadness defeat either of them, she dropped down to her knees in front of Will. She put her hands on his shoulders. "Not everything is different. I'm still here. So are you."

He smiled. "That's true." His expression changed as he watched her, a glint of mischief now where there had been sadness just a few moments ago. "And I think this is the first time we've ever had the camp all to ourselves."

Djaq giggled, and shoved him gently to the ground, squealing when he pulled her down with him. He covered her mouth with his, the kiss quick and hard. She gasped at the intensity of it, and grinned down at him, pleased about the change in his mood. "It is a pity we never did this in the camp before."

Will chuckled, and brought his hand up to her face. "If I'd known then that you..." Djaq did not let him finish the thought, pushing her mouth against his and letting her tongue tease his lips and teeth until he growled low in his throat and pulled her closer. He kissed her back fiercely, as he fisted one hand in her hair, while the other slipped under her shirt, calloused fingers trailing across her bare skin.

The fingers stilled as they came to her stomach. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, as he always did, if the child, the life within her, was alright. She nodded, and brought her mouth back to his, kissing him with all the passion she had ever felt. Reassured, he moaned softly against her mouth, and his hands moved easily across her back and then over her stomach, before his hands curled around the hem of the shirt and lifted it slowly off her body. She reveled in his touch, at once familiar and yet somehow as thrilling as when it had been brand new. She undid the ties of his cloak, shoving the fabric aside as if it offended her. She pressed her lips to his neck, the hollow of his throat, his collar bone. She tried to undo the buttons on his shirt, but they would not come undone, and she hissed in frustration, tugging at the fabric until it made a tiny ripping sound.

Will chuckled, his breath warm against her shoulder. "Just wait, will you?" He sat up and stripped off his shirt, and tossing it aside, he pulled Djaq on to his lap, wrapping his arms around her. "Is that better?"

"Hmm. Much better." She straddled his lap and ran a hand over his shoulders and along his collar bone. He was thin, made thinner by their journey perhaps, but he was strong. Years of hard labor, of ploughing fields and hewing wood, had made him muscular in a way she would not have suspected if she'd never seen him like this.

Djaq pressed her lips to his collarbone, and smiled when she felt his heart beat quicken in response. She dragged her lips across his skin, marveling at how natural it felt, how perfect he was. Will brought his hands around to her front, his fingers grazing close, achingly close to her breasts, but moving on to other places without touching them.

She grew impatient and brought his hand to her breast. His thumb raked across her nipple, and she sighed and ground herself against him, pleased beyond measure when he pushed back, grunting softly against her skin. There was nothing separating them now but a thin layer of coarse wool, but to Djaq, even that felt like too much. She could feel him through the cloth, aroused and ready, and she ached to press herself to him, to eliminate all the space between them. She scratched his chest and bit his shoulders in want, not even able to remember when she had wanted, _needed_ Will this much. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she suspected it was just the magic of this place, of Sherwood Forest.

Will's mouth moved against her skin, wet and hot as he kissed his way from her earlobe to her throat and then lower, finally stopping only when he drew her taut nipple into his mouth. Djaq threw her head back, nearly dizzy with sensation, and Will's fingers dug into her hips as he pressed his mouth hard against her tender flesh, bruising and demanding.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging them quickly over his hips and legs. He pulled her back down to him, impatient with need. She laughed gently before shucking off her own pants and pushing him down on to the ground.

Djaq covered his body with her own and reveled in the feel of skin against skin, in the way his rough hands felt as he stroked her body. He brought a hand to her face and forced her to look at him. She gasped at the intensity of his gaze, the way it flooded her with sensations she was certain she had never felt before.

She raised her hips off his for just a moment and then bracing herself, she pressed their bodies closer as he entered her easily and thrust powerfully into her. She gasped and closed her eyes, giving into a pleasure so intense it was nearly at the edge of pain. Her head spun with feeling, and around her, the forest fell away and disappeared into the sands of the desert.

She was in an oasis at the edge of a steep cliff, when the desert spirit caught her and pinned her down. He cajoled her with his words, caressed her with his mouth and made love to her, filling her with his desire, his sorrow and his joy until there was nothing left of Djaq but aching, desperate need.

She cried out, begged the spirit to let her go, but when she tried to get away, he grabbed on to her, urging her for more until he pushed them both over the precipice in a tidal wave of pleasure so great, she dissolved into the spirit, and became one with him, never to be separated again.

Djaq drooped onto Will's chest, exhausted by her own climax and frightened by the images in her head, but somehow still desperately wanting him. Will murmured soft, unintelligible words in her ear and stroked her hair until she came back to herself. He looked at her, a question in his eyes, but she shook her head, too overwhelmed to speak.

He understood somehow and did not push her. He wrapped his cloak gently around both of them, and she snuggled into his chest, glad for his comfort and his silence.

He whispered into her hair. "Go to sleep. It's been a long day."

--

Will ran a hand along one of the rough-cut beams of the camp, looking for any defects, any signs of decay that might have caused the gang to abandon the place. But there was nothing to see, at least on the outside. It was a matter of pride for him that it was built nearly as well if not better than most village houses, and he had expected it to last forever. Or at least as long as Robin needed it.

_Maybe that's it. Maybe they just don't need it anymore._ With that thought came another far more sobering one. He knew now that it was just foolish fancy his part, but he had expected the gang to still be there, to still be the same, even though he and Djaq had been gone more than a year. The gang was bound to be different now, changed because of everything that had happened to them

There was even the possibility there _was_ no gang anymore. Perhaps they had all scattered and decided to each face life in their own way. Maybe losing Marian had made Robin reconsider his commitment to England's poor. Whatever the reason, it was obvious Robin Hood was over, and with him, any dreams Will might have had of his place as one of Robin's men.

Will's dismay grew as he considered that this entire journey to England had been for naught. Of course, he still had family in England, but Sherwood Forest had been his home--_their_ home--and he could not shake the feeling that they had been abandoned by those they loved best, without so much as a word. What were they supposed to do now, where could they go, without Robin's purpose and determination to guide them?

Next to him, still wrapped in his cloak, Djaq stirred, shifting a little in her sleep. The makeshift blanket was askew now, exposing one of her breasts, and he cupped it gently, loving that it was so familiar and somehow so perfect. She mumbled something and swatted his hand away, sitting up suddenly.

"Wha...?"

"It's morning. You should dress."

She frowned, obviously still trying to process where they were. "My clothes?"

"Here." He brought her the pile of clothing she'd discarded so hastily the night before. "We should get going...if we still want to find the others."

Will tried to keep the edge of alarm out of his voice as he spoke. "I think they might be north of here somewhere."

She gave him a sharp look and then frowned, turning away as she quickly pulled on her clothes.

He thought back to the previous night, how different and how much more overwhelming it had been, at least for him. He remembered how she had moved in his arms, how she had cried out, and he wondered if he might have hurt her in his enthusiasm and his desire.

"Djaq? Is everything alright?"

She smiled at him, looking so lovely he thought his heart would break. "Oh, yes...everything is fine. I am ready now. Let us go."

She clasped his hand, and at a nod from him, they both put up their hoods and left the camp behind them. Will was careful to keep Djaq close, worried for her. After the encounter with Gisborne, he had given her his dagger, but he was not sure it was much of a weapon in a real fight. He was not taking any chances, not anymore.

For her part, Djaq bristled a bit at the need for protection, but eventually she gave in. He knew they would argue about it later, but for now, Will was concerned only for her safety.

They were a hundred yards from camp when she stopped. "Why north?"

Will shrugged. "Just trying to figure out where they might be. There are those caves..."

She smirked. "Yes, and it is also the way to Scarborough."

"What?"

"I just thought maybe you had decided Robin was not here, and that we should go elsewhere."

He goggled at her. "How did you know...?"

"I know things." She laughed at his discomfort. "I am not reading your mind, Will Scarlett. It is just that I came to the same conclusion about Robin."

Will nodded. "It doesn't bother you?"

"Yes. But things change. People change. It is to be expected."

The finality of her words troubled Will, making him wonder if she had known all along how things would be in England. Still, if she was resigned to this fate, it would make taking her to Scarborough a little easier. For both of them.

"Will, do they even know? Your kin? About you and me?"

He shook his head. "But it's not like I was keeping it—you –a secret or anything."

"I know, Will. You do not have to persuade me. But maybe we should have sent a letter..."

Will shrugged. "Luke can't read." Djaq frowned, so he added, "No, really. He can't even read as much as I can.

"And I doubt Auntie Annie can either."

Djaq nodded and they lapsed into silence, resuming their walk through the forest. It was still early in the morning, and soft light fell through the tree branches and dappled the leaves on the forest floor. The smells of early summer were everywhere. Will inhaled, taking in the scent of the fresh growth in the underbrush, of the rich, dark earth drenched with rain water, and feeling as if he had somehow found the one place in the world where everything was right.

He sighed, prompting a curious look from Djaq. He shook his head, knowing he would not be able to explain what he was feeling, not even to her.

Will changed the subject. "We should stop if you're tired."

"No, not yet. But talk to me. It makes the walk seem like less work."

He chuckled. "What about?"

"Tell me about your Auntie Annie. What is she like?"

"I...I don't know. I haven't seen her in years, since I was just a boy.

"She's my dad's sister, and my uncle, he was a baker. Before he died.

"You know, I'm actually named for him. He was Will too."

Djaq smiled brightly at this unexpected bit of information. "I wish I had thought to ask you before, Will. I feel like there are more stories. Of the boy you were."

Will reddened at this and ducked his head shyly, making Djaq laugh and roll her eyes.

They made their way through the forest slowly, familiar trails giving way to more forbidding parts of the forest. Will could not be certain, but he thought they were not far from the Great North Road, where he had very nearly taken the wrong path, towards Scarborough and away from Djaq. _I'm so glad we came back. _

It was also the place he had last seen his brother, bidding him a bitter farewell when cruel fate had robbed Luke of his father and his idyllic childhood. Luke had wanted to stay, be a part of Robin's gang, but Will, feeling older and wiser, had sent him back to Auntie Annie, to a life he hoped was better than his own in the forest.

After another hour of walking through the forest, he and Djaq came to a clearing that was once again quite familiar. It was at the edge of a ravine, and many a traveler had been ambushed by Robin Hood here. The higher ground above the clearing was a perfect vantage point for the outlaws and offered no escape routes for wealthy travelers.

Acting mostly out of reflex, they both slowed down as they approached the clearing. Will handed his dagger to Djaq and palmed his hatchet, readying for a possible ambush. Although Robin's men were unlikely to harm them, they were not the only outlaws in the forest.

Djaq put a finger to her lips and pointed to the western edge of the ravine. Will could just make out the outline of two unfamiliar men crouching behind a tree, and the odds were good these men were armed. There was no way to tell if they were alone, or part of a larger group.

The only advantage he and Djaq had was the element of surprise. An ambush relied on travelers being unaware of potential attackers, but if the travelers attacked first, it put the outlaws on the defensive. This proposition had never been tested by Robin Hood's men, but Will was willing to chance it, because they had few other choices.

Will glanced over at Djaq, and the same thought flitted through their two minds. She nodded, knife at the ready, and at his signal, the two of them charged into the clearing, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Their gamble proved correct, but very costly. Their attackers were confused, but only for a moment. At a signal from their leader, eight outlaws rose as one out of the edge of the ravine and dropped into the clearing, their long bows aimed straight at Will and Djaq. One of them called out, his voice grating and unfamiliar.

"This is an ambush."

Out of the corner of his eye, Will caught the smile on Djaq's face. Only one of Robin's men would have used those words. She yelled back at the attackers. "Is that any way to greet your friends?"

The outlaws looked a little confused, but they kept their focus on their quarry, bows still at the ready. The one who had called out to them raised his bow, ready to fire, when another voice rang out over the clearing. "Hold!"

This time the voice was painfully familiar, and Will's heart constricted when he heard it.

"Took you long enough." A figure at the back of the group of outlaws lowered his bow and doffed his hood before running headlong into the clearing and throwing himself at Will and Djaq.

It was Allan.

--

Djaq laughed and freed herself from Allan's crushing embrace. He let her go reluctantly and turned his attention to Will instead, nearly knocking him over in the process.

There were tears in the corner of Allan's eyes and when he spoke, the words struggled to come out. "You two...when did...what are you doing here?"

Djaq was uncommonly pleased to see him, wanting so much to speak to him, to share the past year of their lives with him. But she could not find any words equal to the occasion, so she settled for grinning at Allan like a mad woman.

Will too was elated, but he did manage to croak out a few words. "It was just time to come home."

"Yeah, mate." He clapped Will on the shoulder and wrapped his other arm around Djaq. "Better late than never, I say."

Behind Allan, the other outlaws murmured to each other in confusion. One of the outlaws, the one who had called out to them before interrupted their reunion.

"Oi, what's all this?"

"_This_," Allan said, putting on his most dramatic air, "is Will and Djaq.

"They're with us."

Allan gestured at the outlaws and introduced them to Will and Djaq. "And this is my gang."

"_Your_ gang?" Djaq said, not even bothering to hide her surprise.

"Yeah. Sort of. It's a long story." Allan hesitated, and then scratched his chin thoughtfully. He called out to the man who had spoken earlier. "Peter, make camp somewhere." He pointed to the eastern side of the ravine. "Up there. Keep to the high ground.

"I'm going for a walk, yeah?"

The man called Peter seemed reluctant but after a moment, he nodded at Allan and began to herd the others away.

"Let's go into town. You two deserve a pint!"

--

Allan drained his tankard of ale and gestured to the tavern maid for another. The ale here was lousy, not nearly as good as at The Trip. But that place held too many memories—most of them bad—and Allan had made a decision never to go there again.

Still, it was good to be away from the forest, and even better to be out celebrating with the two people he liked best of all of Robin's men, best of almost anyone in the world. When he was certain they were not looking at him, Allan chanced a glance at Will and Djaq.

Outwardly, they were changed only a little. Will seemed a little older than Allan remembered, as if life in the Holy Land had been harder than life in the forest. Djaq, on the other hand, seemed younger—and if such a thing were possible, prettier—than she had been before.

They also seemed prosperous in a way Allan had not really expected. Djaq had close-cropped hair and wore shapeless boyish clothes, like she had when they had first seen her in the forest, but the cloth was much better than Allan had ever seen.

Will was dressed better than Allan remembered as well. His tunic and shirt were of a finer weave than he had worn before and his cloak was thick and made of some rich fabric. The two looked more like wealthy merchants than like outlaws.

"So how long have you been back in England?" Allan tried to keep his tone as matter-of-fact as possible, but what he really wanted to know was why they had come back in the first place.

Will shrugged. "Almost two weeks now. It took us a while to make it here."

"We traveled slowly," Djaq added. "We did not think there was any hurry."

Djaq and Will exchanged a smile, and Allan had a sudden feeling he had intruded on a private conversation. He dipped his head and pretended to take a big swig, just to hide his consternation.

In truth, he had been dreading this moment. He had spent nearly every day of the last year, ever since he'd returned to England with the others, expecting to see Will and Djaq back in the forest, back where they belonged. But the prospect also confused and frightened him.

When he had last seen them, they had been so wrapped up in each other, in the prospect of a new and different life, that his own melancholy had barely even registered with them. He'd thought—for one tiny moment of perfect clarity—that they would ask him to stay with them and renew whatever bond of friendship and affection they'd shared before. But it had not happened, and he had returned to England, disappointment and bitterness clouding his mind.

Now though, they seemed different. They were no longer making eyes at each other while ignoring the rest of the world. In fact, they barely even touched and their conversation was directed almost entirely at Allan. But in a way, this was worse.

Every now and then, one of them would say something that would invite a smile from the other, a secret expression that was just for them, an entire world of glances and thoughts that Allan would never be a part of.

Still, they had come back, and if they still cared for him, they would never leave again. He would make sure of that.

Maybe it was just the ale pooling warm in his stomach, or maybe it was the courage from his determination, but Allan felt better than he had in months.

"So...are the two of you married then? Big wedding, proper feast...all that?"

Will shifted uncomfortably, but did not say anything. Djaq frowned and then spoke, a wide grin hiding any hesitation.

"We are married in a way. In the way that matters to us."

Allan raised an eyebrow, knowing an evasion when he heard one.

"It's nothin' to me. It's just...you're not wearin' a ring is all."

"Ah, Saracens do not wear them." Another smile, but this was one was different, and obviously meant for Will. "I have a ring," she added, "but I do not wear it all the time." She fiddled with the part of her finger where a ring might once have been. "I would not want to lose so precious a thing."

Will covered Djaq's hand with his, but then quickly removed it, and Allan wondered if that had been for his benefit. Silence, awkward and pregnant, descended on them, until the tavern maid broke the impasse by setting a tankard of ale down noisily in front of Allan.

Will chuckled when some of the liquid sloshed over on to Allan's lap. "Well, I'm glad some things haven't changed much."

Something about Will's tone pricked at Allan, made him bristle defensively. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Will frowned. "Nothing. It's just..."

He hesitated and took a deep breath before continuing. "We went to the old camp, but it was...well, there was nobody there." Will's voice was soft and edged with sadness.

"Yeah...about that." Allan pondered how to describe everything that had happened in a way that would bring Will and Djaq the least shock.

"We had to abandon the camp. Robin thought maybe the Sheriff had figured out where it was. It wasn't safe anymore.

"But you should know...it was hard, leaving it behind. Felt like leaving our home." He let his voice trail off when he caught the miserable look on Will's face.

Djaq tried to ease Will's discomfort by changing the subject. "And those men with you? Who were they?"

"They're all Robin's men. Well, the ones who are men. There are a couple of girls too."

Djaq looked stunned by this, so Allan continued, amused by her reaction.

"Not even pretending to be boys or anything." He gave Will and Djaq a smirk. "I wouldn't kick any of 'em out of my bunk either."

Will chuckled and Djaq rolled her eyes. "I see there are some other things that have not changed, Allan A Dale!"

"Yeah, and that's as it should be. See," he pointed at Will, "he's tall, you're short. And I like to blag.

"Life should have its...what do you call it? Constants."

He was being glib, because that was the easiest way to avoid talking about all the things that had not stayed the same. Some things in Nottingham had turned out to be rather inconstant.

"So where did you find these men?" Will asked the question matter-of-factly, but Allan could sense the underlying question was about something else, about whether these new men were worthy, as worthy as Will or Djaq.

"They found us, actually.

"People here...all over Nottingham, maybe all over England. They heard about what Robin—we—did in the Holy Land.

"And they just started showing up. Outlaws, brigands, sometimes just peasants. Anyone with a grouse against the law, anyone running from something or someone.

"They all wanted to be Robin Hood."

Djaq frowned. "And Robin just takes them in? Without question?"

Allan shrugged. "Yeah, mostly. Robin has it in his head that when the king comes back to England, he's going to need an army, a force of fighters."

Djaq nodded, looking sad. "So we are not just outlaws now. We are soldiers. For King Richard."

"Yeah. But at first...well, it wasn't like that at first.

"When we came back, Robin was...he was different. He still is different.

"He was really angry. 'Angry' isn't even close to what he was, really. About Marian and the king. All of it. He wanted to end all of it. Sent us all off, told us to be on our way."

Allan spoke with amusement now, even though that day had been one of the most painful of his times with Robin. "But it's not like we had any place to go, so we stuck around.

"He made us promise we'd help him. Help him kill Gisborne."

Djaq and Will exchanged a look of alarm at this. Allan nodded, knowing they'd find it strange that Robin of Locksley—a man of compassion and principle—would counsel his men to kill in cold blood.

"We agreed...because he was Robin, yeah? And Gisborne...well, he sort of deserved it, didn't he?"

Will spoke in a hushed voice, obviously still in shock. "What happened then?"

"Nothing, that's what. Turns out Robin was too late."

Will frowned. "What?!"

"Gisborne never came back from the Holy Land. He's dead."

--


	25. Chapter 25: Shifting

**Shifting**

They trudged slowly back to the forest. The dark alleys of the town fell away before Will even had time to reminisce about them. At the tavern, he had almost told Allan about their run-in with Gisborne, but Djaq had silenced him with a nudge and a meaningful look, and Will had reluctantly set the problem aside. He suspected Djaq knew something she was not yet willing to share with Allan.

The sky was cloudy and the night almost moonless as they neared Allan's makeshift camp. The forest was dark, the treetops an inky smudge against the gray-black sky. Will felt the night reflected his mood perfectly, as uncertainty and doubt darkened his mind and clouded his happiness at being back among his friends.

They were nearly at the high edge of the ravine when the sounds of men scrambling to their feet over dried leaves caught Will's ears. A sliver of light flared from a torch or a fire, but disappeared almost as quickly. Will guessed from the hissing and crackling sound that someone had doused it with water. He palmed his hatchet and readied to throw it into the darkness, but Allan's hand at his elbow stopped him.

Allan held a finger to his lips, and then whistled, a low and eerie sound that traveled out into the night. After a few moments, there was an answering hoot followed by a quick clapping of hands and the lighting of a torch.

"It's my gang. You can put that away," Allan gestured. Will nodded but kept the hatchet handy, still not sure what to think of Allan's new cohorts. Next to him, Djaq tucked her dagger back into the belt she wore, but her stance was stiff and Will knew she was still on high alert.

He pressed her shoulder gently, and she smiled at him, reassurance passing between them. _It's alright, we're in this together. _

Allan bounded up the side of the ravine, leading Will and Djaq into the night's makeshift lodgings. A fire was being built again, and someone—a young woman—hung a pot over it and began to stir the contents. Bedrolls had been arranged haphazardly around the fire, reminding Will of the way the gang had lived until he built the camp.

_The camp..._The thought brought with it a fresh wave of sadness over their new circumstances_. I could have made it bigger, if Robin had more men. I could have built another one, somewhere else. I should have come back here..._

Djaq sensed his alarm somehow and nudged him until he noticed that Allan was talking to them. He was introducing all the members of his new gang. Will was certain he would not remember the names in the morning, but there would be time to learn all that yet.

The man who had first accosted them in the clearing spoke up, holding his hand out in greeting to Will. "I'm called Peter."

Will shook the man's hand, trying to be friendly in spite of his own trepidation, especially considering the huge scar across the man's cheek.

"Will Scarlett." He pointed in Djaq's direction. "And this is my...this is Djaq."

"Jack? That's a man's name. At least, that's how we English reckon it." Peter crinkled his eyes, trying to get a good look at Djaq in the darkness.

Will bristled at the mild insult to Djaq, but she just smiled and put her hand out for Peter to shake. Will watched her in surprise, knowing she hated the gesture and that Peter's meaning was not lost on her.

"It is a man's name even where I come from, Peter. I use it in honour of someone very dear to me. You must have a similar custom here, you English?"

Her voice was steady, her mockery obvious, and Will had to make an effort to stifle his laughter.

Peter frowned and directed his attention back to Will. "She your woman?"

Will nodded, pulling himself to his full height when he thought he detected threat in Peter's voice.

"Well, you tell her to mind how she speaks around me then."

Will's hand went to the hatchet of its own accord, and only a nudge from Djaq and a quick clap to the shoulder from Allan kept him from launching it at Peter's throat.

Allan's voice broke out over the clearing. "Where are your manners, Peter? Bring us summat to eat, will ya?"

Peter glared at Allan, but eventually trudged off to do as he was told, and Allan relaxed.

"Don't mind Peter, yeah? He's a good man. Just a bit quick to anger around strangers.

"And mind, he's never seen a Saracen before." Allan gave Djaq a look of abject apology. "You're lucky he didn't think you were a witch or something!"

"Don't speak so soon, Allan-a-Dale. Maybe I am a witch."

Allan chuckled and Will relaxed, feeling the tension leaving his body.

"Who is the girl?" Djaq asked, her tone both curious and suspicious.

Allan shrugged. "We found her trying to steal our food one day. She was starving, the poor thing.

"Don't know who she is though. She doesn't talk."

Will frowned. "Doesn't talk? Or won't talk?"

"Same thing, innit? Think she might be one of them deaf or mute people. You know?"

"Yes. I have seen such people before. They are born not hearing, so they never learn to speak. My father used to say they could be taught to speak with their hands, but I have never seen it."

Allan shrugged again. "Doesn't seem to bother her much, to be honest."

By this time, Peter had returned, carrying three bowls of stew and a loaf of bread. The smell of meat wafted through the air, and Will heard his stomach growl in response. _And if I'm hungry, Djaq must be starving. _

He gave her an apologetic look, but she waved him off and they both began to eat. The stew was thin, and the meat was gamey, clearly something they had trapped in the forest. It was better than Much's squirrel stew, but not my much.

The bread was a travesty, however, already stale and with a bit of mold growing on it. Will watched in confusion as Allan rubbed some of the mold off a hunk of bread before eating it.

Allan looked sheepish as he ate. "It's not the best food, I know, but we make do, yeah?

Will dropped the bread into the stew and set the bowl down with a hard thud. "Allan, what's going on here? We used to have decent bread at least!"

Allan gave him a long hard look and did not answer right away. Then, he shrugged. "The folks at market aren't as nice to us as they used to be.

"Not since the Sheriff started hanging people for helping outlaws anyway."

"What?" This time, Djaq and Will spoke in unison, and Allan was taken aback, but only for a moment.

He nodded and continued. "A few months ago, he hung four men—boys, really—from Wadlow. Said they were friendly with outlaws and that was a crime punishable by death.

"Funny thing is, Robin hadn't been anywhere near Wadlow, none of us, not for months. And by the time he found out, the boys were already dead."

Will listened in stunned silence, guilt and fear growing quickly in his heart. For her part, Djaq was horrified and the look on her face was heartbreaking.

"The stalls at the market in town won't sell us anything, and Robin won't risk asking the villagers for bread and cheese and all anymore. Can't risk buying it from them neither. So we make do with what we can get, when we can get it."

Will was too shocked to speak. How had everything gone wrong—changed so much—so quickly? Would it even have made a difference if he and Djaq had come back with the others?

Djaq's voice cut into his thoughts. "Where is Robin anyway? And the others...John, Much?"

Will caught the look of discomfort on Allan's face as he shuffled and hesitated. He was inclined to let the question go, knowing they would find out about Robin and others soon enough, but Djaq had fixed Allan with one of her looks, the kind that demanded a response.

Allan hedged at first. "You'll see Robin soon enough. Just ask him yourself."

Djaq persisted. "Yes, but since he's not here now, maybe you should just tell us what is going on here."

Allan glared at her and took his time before answering. "Robin makes camp at a place called Newstead. Much is with him, of course. And some other men. New people.

"And John has his own men too. South of the Trent, near a village called Torloton. Just a bunch of caves, really."

Will nodded. He knew Torloton. It was a rough sort of place, but far enough away from Nottingham that it would be safe to make camp there. It was also far enough away that Robin could make food drops to villagers there and...

Will frowned. "Wait, you said you can't be seen with the villagers anymore. How do you make the drops? Of food and medicine and all that?"

Allan looked away, and that was all the response Will needed. He dropped his bowl on the ground and stood, glowering at Allan.

"What about all those people then? They could be starving. They could be...dying!

"We're supposed to be helping them! That's the whole reason..."

"Will..." He felt Djaq's fingers at his elbow, but he shrugged off the gesture with a hiss.

"There's no point to all this, unless we're helping people." He sat down heavily and put his hands to his head in despair. "If we're not helping people, we're just outlaws. Thieves!"

"We still help people!" Allan was defensive. "We do what we can, alright? Can't risk anyone's life though, can we?

"Besides, Robin really wants to help the king. All the money we take goes to recruiting men..."

Will was indignant. "Starving peasants, playing at being soldiers."

Allan turned on him. "Don't be stupid. He's not talking to villagers, is he?

"He's out convincing lords and knights they need to be on the king's side. Especially now the war's over and the king is on his way home."

Djaq piped up. "So you've heard then? The treaty's been signed? The king has returned?"

Allan shrugged. "Don't know nothing about a treaty. Robin says there's word the war is over. And if it is, then the king should be on his way, yeah?"

Djaq gave Will a sidelong glance, but his mind was too clouded for him to catch her meaning. She nodded at Allan. "Yes, he should be."

Allan smiled, the expression sad and fleeting. "That's the thing with Robin, innit? He thinks everything will be alright when the king comes home."

He scuffed a small rock with his boot, sending it skipping across the forest floor. "Maybe he's right. Maybe it will be."

--00--

Djaq wrapped an arm around Will's waist and pulled the blankets tighter around both of them. Like the rest of Allan's men, they had laid their bed rolls out by the fire, but unlike the others, sleep had not come for either of them. After nearly an hour, Djaq gave up the attempt to fall asleep and crawled into Will's bed roll instead.

"Are you alright, love?"

He stroked her hair gently and sighed, but said nothing for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with melancholy. "Everything is so different, so wrong."

He turned his face to hers, and Djaq thought she could make out a wet trail of tears on his face. "I want to fix it all, Djaq. But I just don't know how."

She scrubbed at his cheek with a thumb, wiping away the wetness and with it, she hoped, his dire mood as well. "You will find a way. We both will. But not now, not just yet."

He did not seem satisfied, but after a while, he pulled her closer and buried his face in her neck.

"I think we should go into Locksley tomorrow."

He stiffened and lifted up his head, propping it up on an elbow. "What for?"

"I'm going to see Matilda." She brought a hand to her stomach, pleased to find that Will's followed after it.

"Is everything alright with the baby? It's been a rough few days here, and—"

"Yes, Will. Everything is fine, and you should not worry so much. Besides, that's why I want to see Matilda."

Will nodded. "I wonder if she's still there. She talked about leaving Locksley before. With her daughter and the baby."

"True. But I hope she is there still. She is a wise woman, and I need her wisdom. We all do, really."

They lapsed into silence and Djaq finally gave her attention to the tiny pinprick of worry at the back of her mind. It had gnawed at her for days now, but she had not allowed herself to think of it, for fear of alarming Will, and even more, for fear that her worry would be a true one. By her own calculations, she was almost three months along, and yet, there were no discernible changes in her body. Her belly was not larger, and she could not feel the babe move within her. It was only in the past few days that she had begun to wonder whether she had stopped bleeding for some other reason. The medical texts she had read suggested reasons other than pregnancy for a missed moon cycle. Traveling women sometimes missed moon cycles because of the excitement and stress of their journey, and sometimes a missed cycle was not a sign of a child but a sign of disease of some other sort.

But worry without rational solution was fruitless, and Djaq would not allow herself to be brought low by it. Whatever it was that ailed her, Matilda would surely know about it, and until then, there was no sense in thinking about it.

With that reassurance fresh in her mind, Djaq curled herself into Will's chest and, lulled by the steady beating of his heart, she finally fell asleep.

--00--

Djaq waited in the underbrush, alert and ready. She and Will were just outside Locksley, and on Allan's advice, they'd decided to wait until after dark to venture into the village. At first, Djaq had wanted to make the trip alone, but Will had been vehement about coming with her, and after a while, she had relented. Outwardly, she had bristled at the idea that she needed his protection, but inwardly, she was pleased, both for his protection and his company.

Will walked ahead, and then waved her over. Even after years of being away, he knew his way around the village, and in just a few moments, they were past the manor house and into the north end of the fields, where Matilda's cottage was. Or used to be, thought Djaq with sadness.

It was late enough in the evening that most of the villagers had already retired for the night. A few homes still had candles burning, and the light cast an eerie glow as they passed. The windows in Matilda's home were dark though, and Djaq's trepidation grew as Will knocked gently on the door.

At first, there was no sound, no sign of anyone stirring inside. Will ducked and peeked inside the window and then turned back to Djaq and shook his head. But a moment later, he was being yanked back to the window by his shirt collar, as an apoplectic Matilda let loose a barrage of curses.

"What in the name of..." Matilda let him go and turned him around to face her. "Will Scarlett? What are you doing here? Scared me half to death!"

She dragged him into the house by his shirt collar, and waved Djaq in behind him. She looked like she was about to box Will around the ears.

"Do you know what they do to boys who sneak into people's houses at night?"

Will shuffled his feet and looked sheepish. Matilda huffed and then, abruptly, she laughed. "Look at you, one of Robin Hood's men, getting scolded by an old woman...like you were just a bitty lad again!

"So what do I owe the honour then?"

Will, now recovered from the tongue-lashing, dropped his lanky form to the floor and sat down on his haunches. Djaq sat down next to him, suddenly shy about why they had come to see Matilda in the first place.

Will made it easier for her. "We just wanted to see you. We weren't sure you'd be here though."

Matilda snorted. "Why? Where else would I be but in my own cottage?"

Will shrugged. "I don't know. I thought...with all the business before. You were going away with Rosa."

"Ah." Matilda nodded and joined them on the floor. "I did go away. At first. But when I heard Gisborne was gone, I came back. And with the new lord here, things are better."

Djaq frowned. "What happened to Gisborne anyway?" Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the look of surprise on Will's face. _Someday I will have to teach you the value of misdirection, Will Scarlett..._

Matilda shrugged. "Don't know really. Baldy put it out about a year ago that Gisborne had died in the Holy Land. Some ugly rumours too.

"That Gisborne had joined up with Robin Hood, and they tried to kill the king. Gisborne died in the attempt, and so did our poor Lady Marian."

Djaq exchanged a look with Will, glad he seemed just as confused as she was. _What is going on here? And what is Gisborne doing in England, if he is meant to be dead? _

Will's voice cut into her thoughts. "Who's the new lord?"

Matilda's face lit up. "Ah, well. That's a right mess, that.

"I guess Prince John isn't too happy with Sheriff Baldy right now. Took most of the villages away from him. Gave Locksley to a kinsman of his and the king's. A lord in Ireland..."

Her voice trailed off as she tried to remember the details. "William de Burgh, he's called. But he's too busy in Ireland to bother with all this, so his daughter watches Locksley for him."

Will startled. "His daughter?" Djaq took Will's surprise to mean that it was unusual for women to be allowed to run their own estates. If that was the case, then it was hardly limited to England. This was the lot of women heiresses everywhere in the world, she imagined.

"Yes. Lady Catherine. Strange woman. Young, but not very friendly.

"Still. She leaves us alone, and we leave her alone. Mostly."

"What about the taxes?"

Matilda made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, we still have to pay those, mind. Just to the lady, and not the Sheriff.

"And we like that she's not wont to cut out our tongues when we can't pay." Matilda laughed, and her mood, much lighter now than it had been when they had first arrived, spread quickly, making Djaq feel lighthearted and easy. She chanced a glance at Will, and he was chuckling softly and looking very young and somehow even more desirable than usual. He caught her eye and smiled at her, and she was transfixed.

The moment was short-lived, however, because Matilda cleared her throat and gave them both an odd look.

"So why are you really here?"

Will had discovered a sudden interest in the floor and did not say anything, even when Djaq nudged him.

Djaq spoke, uncertain exactly how to broach the topic. "I wanted to speak to you about something. Er, women's things."

Matilda frowned, but after a moment, she nodded and gestured at Will. "You. Get out."

"What? What did I—"

"You heard her, didn't you? Women's things. What use are you for such things?"

"I—"

"Go wait outside. In the fields." She shoved Will out the door and called out after him. "And don't get arrested!"

She turned her attention back to Djaq. "And you. You're having a baby, aren't you?"

Djaq nodded. "Yes, I—"

Matilda interrupted, jerking her head towards the door. "Is he the father then?"

"Yes, he—"

"Does he know?"

Djaq gaped at her. "Of course he knows! Why would I keep it from him?"

Matilda shrugged. "Well, I don't know, do I?" She seemed about to scold Djaq, but her expression softened abruptly. "I reckon Will Scarlett is nearly as pretty as his father was at that age.

"I've known many a lass that lay down with a pretty man one night, and regretted it the next morning."

Djaq bristled, angry at Matilda for suggesting such a thing about her and Will.

"It is not like that. Will and I are—"

"In love, I suppose?" Matilda rolled her eyes.

Djaq forced herself to keep calm. "Yes, we are. And we're also married."

"Married?" Matilda feigned shock. "Well, that makes all the difference, doesn't it?"

Djaq raised her voice a little. "Look, I do not understand why you—"

Matilda held up her hands apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be harsh. It's just...you're a girl living in the forest with a lot of unruly lads, and I wasn't sure if you understood.

"But you're sensible enough, and I shouldn't be making fun."

She sat down in front of Djaq, a friendly expression on her face. "So, a baby, eh?"

Djaq nodded, feeling her old ease coming back. "Only I do not really know anything about babies. I thought you could help me."

Matilda nodded and held out her hands. "Let's see now. Give me your hands, and we'll take a look at you."

She grasped Djaq's wrists and watched intently. Djaq frowned. "What can you tell from my hands?"

"Oh. There's some that think you can feel the babe's heartbeat through a woman's veins."

_So that's how Gisborne knew!_ Djaq had been shocked when he'd guessed at her condition, certain there was no way such a thing could be apparent to anyone but her, and perhaps Will. She had even wondered if he had just thrown the statement out as a wild guess, a gambit to throw her off and get the upper hand. But now it made sense. He had taken her wrists to bind them, and perhaps he had heard something. But how on earth did Gisborne, of all people, come to learn such a thing?

"Well, it certainly sounds like you have a babe in there. But I should feel your belly, just to be sure."

For the next half-hour, Djaq allowed herself to be poked and prodded by Matilda until the woman was satisfied that Djaq was indeed pregnant. She made various suggestions along the way, about what to eat and how to prepare for the child's arrival. Some of it seemed like common sense, but some of Matilda's tips were things Djaq had never even considered, and she was glad for the woman's wisdom.

When she was done with her examination, Matilda ran off to another room of the house and returned with a few bags of herbs.

"There's some dried nettle and some dried raspberry leaves. You put them in hot water and drink twice a day. It's good for you, and for the babe.

"And you should make sure you get plenty of meat and bread. I don't know how Robin feeds you all, but you're eating for two now, so mind you get more than the others."

Djaq frowned. "The others, they don't know. Only Will..."

Matilda clucked her tongue in reproach. "Well, it's not the sort of thing you can really keep secret for long, is it?"

"About that. Shouldn't my belly be bigger now? I am worried that there has been no change in my body. Nothing _feels_ different."

Matilda shook her head. "You're just not far enough along, that's all. You'll be showing soon enough, and you'll feel the little one moving too."

Djaq nodded and brought a hand to her stomach, feeling reassured.

"Is there something I cannot do? That I should not be doing?" She gave Matilda a meaningful look, hoping the wise woman would understand.

Matilda shrugged. "No, I don't see why you should lay up in bed like a sick woman. Be careful what you eat, where you go. Make sure you're not bleeding. Try to be happy, so the babe is happy too."

Djaq shook her head. "Yes, but I mean—"

Matilda interrupted her. "Ah, but you're asking about something else, aren't you?"

She looked Djaq straight in the eye. "Do you still lie with him?"

Djaq nodded.

"How often?"

Djaq looked away from Matilda's gaze, her face on fire. She had never had any inhibitions about sleeping with Will, but talking about it was a different matter. She suspected Matilda did not need all the details of her love life, but she had to give her some answer.

"Often. Very often."

Matilda laughed. "Well, aren't you the lucky one!" She patted Djaq gently on the shoulder. "Oh, don't be shy now. It's not a bad thing to love your husband.

"I loved mine every day until he died. Still think of him too."

Djaq looked up, and stared at Matilda in wonder. She had never really considered that the woman might have been married herself, even though she knew Matilda had a daughter of her own. _Our eyes are so narrowed by our own lives, we do not see the lives of others. _The thought was a sobering one, and she was about to offer Matilda some words of solace when she caught the look on the woman's face.

Matilda's gaze was steady but unfixed, as if she were looking at something in a place far away. _Or a time far away._ Djaq cleared her throat gently, and Matilda shook her head and came back to herself.

"I'm sorry," Djaq said. "I did not mean to—"

Matilda dismissed her worry with a snort. "Now, mind, things may change soon. He may not always want what he does now."

"What?"

"It's true. I don't know why Almighty God made it this way, but for some reason, as a woman's desire increases, so her husband's wanes.

"Don't take it to heart if that happens. Men aren't made as clever as women, but they mean well."

Djaq frowned. That was another thing she had not considered. She could not imagine how Will would feel as her body changed, but it was possible he would see her differently. They would have to talk about that soon.

She took her leave of Matilda, thanking the woman and trying to pay her for her services, even though Matilda refused.

"None of that now. Come back in a month and see me again. I want to make sure the child quickens properly. Be careful. And take care of that Will Scarlett now."

Djaq smiled. "I will. I promise."

--00--

Will stood at the edge of a copse of trees behind Matilda's cottage and looked out on the fields. It was the most familiar place in the world, and Will had many happy memories of the place...of running through the fields playing tag with other village children, of cutting sheaves of grain at harvest, of seeing his parents, whole and healthy, walking hand-in-hand at midsummer's eve. But there were painful memories too, like the time he had dared Luke to climb the scarecrow, and his brother had fallen and broken his arm. Or the time the blight hit most of the village's crop, and began all the tragedies of Will's young life. On an impulse, he bent down and picked up a lump of earth, loamy and warm under his fingers. It smelled like rain and joy and happiness, and it was his most favorite thing in the whole world. He sighed, suddenly wistful for the simple life of a peasant.

He shook his head, and dropped the clod, determined to leave Locksley behind. The past belonged to someone else, it was not his life, not anymore. His life was Djaq, and nothing in his past even came close to his life with her. The joy of being with her, of hearing her soft laughter, seeing the way her eyes twinkled in mischief, knowing her strength and her courage...this was what his life was made of now, and there was nothing better, as far as he was concerned.

Leaves rustled behind him, and he stiffened, only to see Djaq walking away from Matilda's cottage. There was not much moonlight, but the little there was seemed to find Djaq perfectly. In its pale light, she glowed like a spirit from some other world, and Will was utterly enchanted by the sight.

_I'm so lucky_. He had spent much of the past two days in a funk, bitter and angry over everything that had happened in the forest in his absence. But his resentment seemed petty now. He was angry at men who had little enough joy in their lives, at a time when he had never been happier. It struck him as petty and unbecoming of him, so he let the feeling go, as he had let Locksley go a few moments before.

He would never know, not if he lived a hundred years, how he had been fortunate enough to end up with Djaq. She was lovely and clever and just extraordinary, and why she had picked a lowly English carpenter to walk through life with her was something Will accounted among the universe's great mysteries. But just as he did not question why the sun rose every morning, so he did not question Djaq's choice. He was just happy to be part of her life.

He held his hand out to her as she approached, and squeezed it gently, threading his fingers through hers. "Is everything alright?"

She smiled at him, and Will felt his heart flip over at the sight. "Yes, perfect. Matilda says everything is as it should be. But I need to eat more, apparently."

Will frowned, a spot of worry clouding his happiness. "Are you not getting enough? Have you been hungry all this time?"

She swatted him in the shoulder. "No! Stop worrying. I'm doing fine. We will just have to make sure I get a bit more bread and meat. Maybe even some fruit."

He nodded absently, his mind racing ahead of them. Allan had already mentioned that food was scarce. Maybe he would just eat less and make sure Djaq got more. If the others knew she was pregnant, they would make sure she ate...

"Djaq, are we going to tell the others? About the baby?"

"I..." She hesitated, and Will could feel her uncertainty. "Not just yet. Let it just be for us for now. Is that alright?"

"Yes, of course. Whatever you want."

She gave him a curious look. "Speaking of what I want, you do know things will be different now, yes?"

"Different?"

"I'm having a child, Will. I will be different. My body will change. You may not like it. You may not want me as you do now."

He cut her off immediately, looking shocked. "No, never." He brought his hand to her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. "It makes no difference to me at all. I love you and I will _always_ want to be with you. Always." He searched her face, his eyes intense and desperate. "You have to believe me."

She covered his hand with her own. "I do. I just wanted to make sure you understood." She laughed. "And I am a woman of science. I like to have proof, so you will have to prove yourself to me when the time comes."

He frowned, but after a moment, when he understood, his face broke out in a huge grin. His hand left her face, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his chest. "I can prove myself right now, if you like."

Their quiet laughter echoed in the night, and Locksley was again the happiest place in Will's memory.

--

Djaq ran through the forest, her heart pounding, her weapons jangling at her side. Arrows flew past, narrowly missing her, and jagged voices rang out, "get her, get her! She's not one of us." But the tall green man did not chase her. Instead, he lured her into a cave and shut her in, laughing as he closed the entrance with a boulder. She beat her fists against the stone until they bled, and the blood became a river that flowed from her and soaked the ground. In a corner of the cave, the desert spirit held his head in his hands and wept inconsolably.

Djaq awoke with a start, the dream staying with her through the early morning mist. The sun was already up, but the outlaws slept. All except the mute girl who sat under a nearby tree, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at Djaq. She was wearing riding breeches and there was fresh mud caked on her boots, even though there was no horse in sight, and it had not rained in this part of the forest. Djaq's curiosity drove the remnants of the dream away, and she quickly pulled on her clothes, careful not to wake Will in the process.

The girl smiled at Djaq and made some sort of hand signal. After a moment, Djaq realized she was being asked if she was hungry, and when she nodded, the girl smiled and handed her a huge hunk of bread. It was fresh and soft, and Djaq nearly cried out when it melted in her mouth. She ate it greedily, not even caring that her silent companion seemed amused. The girl chuckled and then let Djaq peek inside her saddle bag, where she had two more loaves. Djaq gaped at the girl, wondering if she had stolen the bread from somewhere, but there was no way to find out. The girl took one out and gave it to Djaq and signaled that she and Will should keep it. Then she winked and put her finger to her lips. Djaq nodded. _It will be our little secret. _

With that, the girl leapt up and bounded off to where the others slept. Djaq watched in wonder as the girl stoked the campfire and began to prepare the morning's meal. Djaq used her hands to ask the girl if she needed help, but she smiled and shook her head, and Djaq resigned herself to watching the girl as she worked. She was making some sort of porridge out of powdered grain that looked like it had seen better days. Djaq sighed. Obviously, the bread was not going to be shared with the other outlaws, and she felt almost guilty for taking it.

The camp began to come to life, woken up by the smell of the fire and hot food. For a ragtag bunch of peasants, they were surprisingly organized. Each man had a specific responsibility, and set himself to the task almost immediately. Allan surprised Djaq by being brisk and efficient, as he delegated the day's duties to his men. He sent two of the youngest-looking lads out to forage, and set two more men to watch the perimeter. The rest of the men set themselves to packing up all the camp equipment, even as they all took turns eating breakfast. There was surprisingly little banter, however, and the others looked suspiciously at her.

They did not seem to like Will much either. He'd taken his own sweet time waking up, but once he noticed the level of activity around him, he'd been quick to jump into the fray and offer a hand. They were grudging, looking warily at the axe strapped to Will's back, but they took his assistance, and soon the camp had been disbanded, and they were on their way.

Will hung back, helping Peter haul some of the heavier things up the road. Allan kept a steady pace, and she had to trot to catch up with him.

"Where are we going?"

"Nettlestone. We have to be there by midday."

Djaq nodded. "Why?"

"We meet up with the others. Robin and John."

Djaq felt her spirits rise. It would be wonderful to see the others, her long-lost friends. "I see. And then?"

Allan laughed. "You ask a lot of questions, Djaq."

"True, but that never bothered you before."

"Yeah, but that was because I thought you..." His voice trailed off and he stopped in his tracks, giving her a sheepish look. "Never mind.

"Tell me what you and Will got up to in the Holy Land."

Djaq pondered for a moment. It was hard to explain what she and Will had done there. _What do I tell him, that Will was a spy against his own king? That I worked for a woman who ran a brothel? That Bassam...oh, poor Bassam. _

She shook her head. "Not much of anything, really. We're boring, Will and I."

Allan snorted. "Didn't need to go halfway round the world to find that out. I could've told you right here!"

She laughed, pleased to feel at ease around Allan, glad there was no tension between them, as there had been when they had all parted in Acre more than a year ago.

"So why this meeting?"

Allan hesitated and for a few minutes, he pretended to check on the others, and barked orders at his men. But when he returned his attention to Djaq, his gaze was frank.

"We rotate camps, yeah? I'll go south to join up with John's men. He'll go north with Robin's men, and my men will stay here, with Robin.

"I don't know why we do it, and I don't ask a lot of questions of Robin. Not anymore."

Djaq nodded. It had not been obvious at first, but Allan had been changed by his experiences with Gisborne. He was less glib than he used to be, the easy charm that hid his greatest insecurities replaced by something more sincere and far more serious. Still, he still had the twinkle of mischief in his eyes, he still told jokes far too ribald for polite company, and sometimes, he still looked like he was spoiling for a fight.

She wondered how much the others had changed over the same time. She could not see either Little John or Much being much altered, no matter how much time passed. Their personalities, shaped as they were by their inherent goodness and compassion, were immutable. The idea of such constancy in an ever-changing world pleased Djaq. It would be nice to see them all again.

Djaq frowned. That only left Robin, and she was uncertain what she would find there. "So, Robin. Is he...alright?"

Allan stared at her for a moment. Then, he shrugged and made a dismissive sound. "Yeah, I guess he's alright. All things considered."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "More single-minded than before, I suppose. Determined to help the king, to beat the Sheriff."

He said no more, and after a while, Djaq gave up the small talk, content to enjoy Allan's companionable silence.

Presently, they came to a spot along the Trent where the ground rose into a small hill, and Allan decided to give his men a breather. They lounged about on the ground, drinking water out of their canteens and talking softly.

Will walked over to her, his hair plastered to his forehead by a thin layer of sweat. She chuckled and tried to push it off his forehead, but Will moved her hand away gently, nodding in Allan's direction. She frowned, unsure of what was going on, but noting that Will and Allan were awkward around each other. _Still? After all this time? Men are ridiculous creatures!_

She stood up and dusted the leaves and dirt off her trousers. "Listen, I have to go."

Allan frowned at her. "Where?"

Will chuckled and raised a single finger, and Allan caught on immediately. "Oh. Do you need someone to go with you? Keep watch?"

Will stopped him as he stood up. "She does. That would be me."

Allan looked dismayed, prompting Djaq to roll her eyes and throw up her arms in disgust. "I can go by myself, but by all means, why don't both of you come with me?"

They gave her guilty looks, but both of them bounded dutifully after her, as she made her way into the woods to relieve herself.

Done, she ventured back to the clearing where Allan and Will were waiting, noting with disappointment the tension in their stances, and the fact that they didn't seem to be speaking to each other.

She put her hands on her hips and stared them down, defiant and determined to get them to stop behaving like idiots. But the words had barely formed on her tongue when an arrow whizzed past her head and stuck fast in the tree behind her. Allan and Will gaped at her for a second, before running over to make sure she was alright.

The two men were distraught, but she shrugged off their concern. "I'm alright. Just surprised." She strode purposefully to the tree, trying to hide how badly her legs were shaking. She yanked on the arrow, but it would not budge. Will came over to help her, while Allan watched, an odd look on his face.

"Haven't seen one of those in a long time."

Djaq frowned at him in confusion, until she saw Will's fingers glide over the feathers of the arrow's flight as he pulled it free of the tree trunk. The feathers were black and yellow, and could only have come from one man's quiver.

"Gisborne." The three of them had said the name in unison, and they all gaped at each other in shock.

Allan shook his head. "It can't be. He's dead."

Will shuffled his feet. "Yeah, about that. I think you might have it wrong. See, we sort of _saw_ him."

Allan was stunned. "What do you mean you _saw_ him? Here? In England?"

"Here. In the forest."

Djaq nodded, trying to dispel Allan's dismay. "He was riding through and he caught me...us. It was the day before we met you and your men, actually."

Allan was still incredulous. "You're sure he wasn't a ghost or something?"

Will rolled his eyes. "He was real, Allan. I swear it."

"For some reason, the Sheriff wants everyone to think Gisborne is dead. I don't know why. But he's alive. And he's here."

Allan shook his head. "It's all just a bit...well, cocked up, innit?"

He pointed at the arrow. "And what's that supposed to be? A warning?"

Djaq noticed there was a small piece of folded parchment attached to the arrowhead. "No, a message."

She unfolded the parchment, gave Will a quick look, and then folded it back up and stuck it in her pocket.

"Well, what does it say?" Allan asked.

"Nothing. It says nothing."

Will watched her with narrowed eyes, but she met his gaze evenly, letting him know that was all she was sharing, and hoping he'd been with her long enough to realize what she was doing.

He nodded at her, and began to head back to the hill. "The others will worry."

"Yeah, let's go."

Djaq trailed behind them until they arrived at the hill, where the others were already heaving camp gear over the crest, ready to move on.

Allan headed to the front, and clapped one of his men on the back, whispering in his ear. The man nodded, and headed off in the opposite direction, provoking Djaq's curiosity.

"What do you think that was about?" She nudged Will.

He frowned and then glared at her. "Nothing. It was nothing."

--00--

It was almost midday when they arrived at the rendezvous point outside Nettlestone. Will dropped his pack and the camp gear he'd been carrying, and made for the quietest place he could find. He was wincing and rubbing his abdomen, because the old injury, the one he'd gotten in Acre, had pulled somehow, and it was bothering him. He quickly adjusted his tunic and straightened up when he realized Djaq was watching him. There was no sense in worrying her. He would have to take a closer look later.

He smiled in Djaq's direction, enjoying the way her hips moved as she walked towards him. Her brow was knit though, and she was obviously concerned.

She took his hand. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine. Just tired." He chuckled. "Been a while since I had to work this hard, after all."

She smiled, although there was still an edge of uncertainty to her expression. "Are you still angry with me?"

Will shook his head. "No. I wasn't even angry before. I just...I think you're up to something, and I haven't figured out what it is yet."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why do you have to figure it out? Do you not trust me to tell you?"

He balked. "It's not that. It's...you have a mind of your own, Djaq, and you don't always tell me everything."

She glared at him. "If you want to know, why don't you just ask?"

Will shrugged and said nothing, feeling like there was no way he would win this argument.

She hissed. "Fine. Here it is, Gisborne's message. Tell me what you think."

He stared at her in shock as she shoved the folded piece of parchment into his hand. "Djaq, I--"

Djaq shook her head. "I am not angry, Will. I need your help. I cannot read it!"

He frowned and unfolded the parchment. Gisborne had signed it, but that was the only easily recognizable thing in the message. It was a picture of some sort and there was some writing. He strained to read it, and then realized it was probably Latin or French and gave up.

The drawing was interesting though. There was a winding line, something that looked like a man but with the head of a great beast, a deer or a stag. Beyond that was a small house, with a picture of a pile of bones next to it. There was something familiar about it, and Will set his mind to solving the puzzle.

"What does the writing mean? It's Latin, right?"

Djaq nodded. "I think it's a riddle of some sort. It says 'near the wall of weight, by the burden of the son, I lie in wait.'

"He obviously is telling us where we can find him, but I cannot figure that out from the message!"

Will noted with alarm her frustration at the riddle, and decided it was best if they left it for later. There was no problem the two of them could not solve if they put their heads together, after all. Instead, he put a hand to her shoulder and drew her close, whispering in her hair. "Don't worry. We'll get it sorted. I promise."

Djaq turned and nuzzled his shirt, and he relaxed against her, pulling her closer. Her scent flooded his senses and he allowed himself to be transported to a different place, one where there was no riddle to solve, no secret to keep. She smiled at him and turned her face up to his. He closed the distance between them, and was about to press his lips to hers when a commotion erupted around them.

Djaq pulled away from him, and he turned to see a large man barreling down on them, whooping at the top of his lungs. It was Little John, and he nearly knocked Will over in his enthusiasm. John said nothing but embraced him as hard as he could, and Will felt his own heart ache with joy at the reunion.

Will clapped John on the shoulder, liking him more than ever. "Alright, Little John?"

"Will Scarlett." John nodded in his direction and turned his attention to Djaq, lifting her off the ground as he embraced her. For her part, she looked ecstatic.

"John. It is good to see you."

"And you. You're back! When? How?"

Will laughed. "It's been two days now. We didn't know where to find you, or we might have--"

"No matter. It's good to have you back."

Will grinned, and for once, it felt just like old times. John was little changed from how he'd been a year ago, although his beard was a bit longer, and there was a little more gray in his hair.

Djaq hugged John again. "So I hear you have your own men now."

John stiffened. "Yeah. We all do. But they're not here. I leave them to tend to our camp in the south, when I go up to Newstead."

"Yeah, Allan told us," Will said, earning a sharp look from John.

"Oh? What else has Allan told you?"

Will frowned, surprised at the sudden change in John's tone. "Nothing, or hardly anything. I wish I knew more."

John made a dismissive gesture. "You're better off not knowing. Both of you."

It was Djaq's turn to be surprised. "Why would you say--"

John hushed her. "Robin's here. Ask him."

Will gave Djaq a sidelong glance. She frowned but nodded in his direction and they moved forward with the others to greet Robin. From a distance, all they could see of their leader was his booted feet moving quickly over the forest floor. The men and women of his gang separated and cleared a path for him, and before long, Robin was standing in the middle of a forest clearing, surrounded by all his men.

He wore a fixed smile that was more fierce than happy, but as he spoke, his voice was strong and decisive, just as Will had always remembered it.

"My friends," Robin began. "I have good news. The king has left the Holy Lands and is making his way through Europe now. He will be back in England in a matter of weeks, and when he returns, our journey will begin in earnest."

As he spoke, Robin looked to his men, giving each of them the honor of his personal attention. Will hung back, well hidden by Allan's men and Little John, but it was not long before Robin's eyes landed on him.

Robin stared in surprise, his eyes going wide. A grin, a genuine one this time, broke out over his face.

"You're back," Robin said, his voice strained with emotion. He cast his eyes around the clearing until he found Djaq, standing not far from Will. "You both are."

Robin of Locksley forgot he was a leader of men and became a child once again, as he leapt over the clearing and embraced his two long-lost friends.

"Welcome home."

--00--


	26. Chapter 26: The Road Less Traveled

**The Road Less Traveled**

They sat in a circle on the ground, Robin in the middle, just as they had done so many times before. All the outlaws-all except Much-were here and as they gathered around their leader, it was almost as if no time had passed at all. For a moment, it seemed to Djaq as if the entire last year was nothing but a dream, and any minute now, a plaintive whistle would announce Marian, and Robin would bounce after it, like a rabbit in the spring.

But it only took once glance at Robin's face to make the truth come rushing back. There were wrinkles on his face now, lines etched as much by grief as by time. His smile, more brilliant for its rarity, was edged with steel and determination instead of the impish charm Robin had once wielded like a weapon. But one thing was still very much the same. Robin was their leader. Even though Allan and John appeared to have more authority than before, it was clear they demurred to Robin in the end. Robin spoke in a commanding voice, one that demanded attention and brooked no disagreement. Djaq found herself nodding dutifully as Robin spoke of their plans pending the king's arrival.

The others, Allan's men, had fallen back, forming a rough circle at the edge of the clearing, acting more like they were Robin's posted sentries than his trusted men. For all practical purposes, Robin's original gang had now become his inner circle.

Robin was drawing a makeshift map in the sand, using a stick to mark locations and punctuate his argument.

"The treaty was signed some weeks ago, so by my thinking, the king should be somewhere in Europe by now. Perhaps Italy, or even Aquitaine. If he's traveling light."

There were murmurs from around the group and even from the clearing. Djaq caught a frown on Will's face. He had been in a strange mood nearly all day, but she could not discern his thoughts. She nudged him gently, but he shrugged off the gesture. _He will tell me later._

Robin turned his attention to Allan and John. "So...anything to report?"

Allan cast a quick look in Will and Djaq's direction before answering. "Nothing too unusual. Couple of travelers, merchants mostly.

"Matthew Butcher over there," he gestured at one of the younger men in his gang. "He says there's been some activity at the castle. Messengers in and out, more than usual."

Robin nodded. "Have you set him up as your spy or something?"

"No. He says one of the scullery maids at the castle told him." Allan smirked. "He's not talking to her for your sake, mate, if you know what I mean."

Robin chuckled, but the levity was brief and quickly replaced by his usual look of determination. "And you, John?"

"Nothing, really. A lot of grain moving south over the last few weeks." John shrugged. "Could just be a late harvest though."

"Fair enough." Robin lapsed into silence for a minute, considering his makeshift map.

"Allan, do you think it's safe to stay here? Say for another day?"

Again, Allan shot a quick look in Djaq's direction, and for the first time, Djaq realized he was probably wondering about her encounter with Gisborne.

"I'd say it's about as dangerous as always. My men...er, the men here, they're used to moving about, every two days or so.

"I move them north and then south. Keeps anyone watching us guessing, at least for a while."

Will had been quiet for most of the conversation, but he surprised Djaq by chiming in. "You could just build another camp somewhere here."

Robin looked up, surprised at the suggestion. "Yes, we could. But it would take a lot of time, and I think it's best if we just dedicate ourselves to other matters."

"Like?" Will's voice was patient but insistent. Djaq considered telling him to keep quiet, but she decided not to. The camp was important to Will, and it would not do for her to stifle his words out of deference to Robin. Besides, the others had to know Will meant no disrespect.

Robin raised an eyebrow at Will, and for just a moment, Djaq thought she saw a bit of challenge in his eyes. Instead, Robin rose to his feet and scuffed out the map. "Tell me about the Holy Land."

Will shrugged in response, but kept his eyes focused on Robin. "There's nothing to tell. It's the same as always."

Robin frowned. Will's implication that England was anything but the same as always was not lost on him. "Then why did you come back?"

Will raised an eyebrow at Robin, but did not respond. Djaq decided it was time for her to step in and end whatever impasse Robin and Will had reached. She pulled out the leather purse she had carried with her all the way from Acre and held it out to Robin.

"We came to bring you this. In aid of your struggle, Robin."

Robin was confused but took the purse from her. His eyes widened when he noted how heavy it was, and even more when he peered inside.

"This is...where did you get this much gold?" Robin sifted through the coins and then dropped them back into the bag quickly, as if they burned him.

"We didn't steal it, if that's what you mean," Will muttered in a low voice that only Djaq could hear. She gave him a quick look, pleading for his silence.

"It is my...inheritance. From Bassam."

"Your inheritance?" Robin frowned. "That means Bassam is..." He looked away for a minute and set the purse down. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He put a hand to her shoulder, the gesture both friendly and genuine. "How did it happen?"

Djaq swallowed, not wanting to remember how she had last seen Bassam. "The city was besieged. He was killed...in battle."

She tried to say more but the words stuck in her throat. Tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to fall and shame her in front of her friends. Djaq considered running into the woods to give herself a moment of privacy, a chance to collect herself. Instead, she felt Will's hand at her elbow, familiar and reassuring. She gave him a sidelong glance and nodded. _I'm alright._

Robin met her eyes, concern etched on his face. "Are you sure you want me-us-to have this? It was given to you, and I would never ask you to give it up for-"

"It's alright, Robin." Will spoke, and the others looked up in surprise. "We want you to have it, to help people. Like before. Like we should be doing now."

Robin gave him a sharp look, and then nodded curtly, pocketing the purse. "We are grateful, Djaq. This will go a long way in helping with the king's cause." He turned his attention to Will, and added, "which is the best way to help people, the only way to help England."

Will seemed to be on the verge of a retort, but the sudden sound of clashing swords from the edge of the clearing distracted all of them. The mute girl was locked in combat with one of the younger men in the gang, and the rest stood around egging them on. It was obviously a practice fight, but Djaq was surprised they trained with their actual weapons, instead of the wooden weapons the gang had used before. Of course, they were all training for war now, not just to rob a rich merchant on the North Road.

Djaq watched the girl closely, surprised that she moved as well as she did. She was not particularly skilled with her sword, but her footwork was impressive, and what she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed and agility. There was something vaguely familiar about the way she fought, but Djaq could not put a finger on it.

Allan and John were both smiling and shouting words of encouragement to the girl, but Will said nothing, simply watching the fight, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

She nudged him. "What are you thinking about?"

Will shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just wondering."

Djaq glared at him, confused by his reluctance to tell her what was on his mind. "Are you alright?"

He met her gaze evenly. "Yeah, fine. Just have things on my mind, I guess."

"It's not like you to be so...unforthcoming."

He shook his head. "It's nothing to do with you. I just need to think...about everything that's happened here." He gave her a crooked smile. "My mind isn't as fast as yours. I need a bit more time."

She smiled, noting the teasing tone in his voice, and hiding the worry in her own. "She is not bad, is she?" Djaq asked, gesturing at the mute girl as she parried another blow.

Will nodded. "She's good, actually." He gave Djaq a frank look. "Do you think there's something strange about her?"

"You mean besides the fact that she cannot speak?"

Will gave her a sheepish smile. "How do you think she talks to people?"

"With her hands, I suppose."

"Yeah, but how does she know what to say, even with her hands, when she can't hear what they're saying to her?"

Djaq frowned at him. She had not considered it that much, but now that she thought about it, as far as she could tell, the gang had not developed any complex way of communicating without speaking.

"I do not know, Will. Maybe she can hear, but not speak. Maybe she reads lips, watches the shape of the mouth when someone speaks."

Will nodded, but looked unconvinced. He pointed to the clearing, where other pairs of men had begun to practice as well. "Looks like she's started something."

There was a clamor of approval from Robin and Little John, as they jumped into the fray, the sudden cheer reminding Djaq almost painfully of how things used to be. Will did not seem to be in any hurry to join them, although he was leaning on his axe in an expectant sort of way.

She nudged him. "Give me a sword."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Is there any reason I can't do what everyone else is doing?" She challenged him, and after a moment, Will gave in and handed her his sword.

She pulled it out of its leather scabbard and found it all wrong for her. For one, it was much better suited to a taller person like Will. For another, the blade was long and thin and not the sort of falchion blade Djaq particularly liked. _Still, it's not like I really need to hurt anyone today._

Djaq swung the sword experimentally a few times, pleased by the sound it made as the blade cut through the air. She caught Will's eye and noted his concern, but after a moment's thought, he understood, gave her a quick smile and turned his attention elsewhere. Djaq sighed, knowing that Will would never agree to fight her, not even just for practice.

She looked around for someone more willing, but there were no takers. Whether it was because she was a woman, or because she was unfamiliar, none of Allan's men would fight her, and Little John and Robin were occupied with the others.

Djaq sat down, disappointed. It would only be a matter of time before her condition, her pregnancy, would become apparent to everyone, and then nobody would consider fighting her, and they would be right to refuse. This was her last chance, her best chance, to prove she could still be useful to Robin, and it was slipping away.

Looking around the clearing, she spied Allan, passing a few bags of something to the now-exhausted mute girl. She caught his eye and gestured at him with the sword. He frowned at her and then nodded, beckoning her over. Djaq nearly leapt the entire width of the clearing in excitement. It had been a long time since she'd trained with a sword, and in many ways, Allan was the perfect practice partner.

-000-

Allan watched Djaq cross the clearing, worry beginning to edge into his thoughts. It was not that he was concerned about Djaq's fighting skills. She'd proven herself more than capable many times, and he was not about to second guess her on that score, even if she was probably out of practice.

He beckoned her over to the outer edge of the clearing, out of sight and earshot of the others. From where Allan was standing, he could see Will glance in their direction every now and then. He was mildly surprised that Will was not objecting to Djaq picking up a sword. But then again, this was Djaq, and if Will had objected, she probably would have clocked him with the sword. He nodded in Will's direction to let him know it was alright and that he would watch out for Djaq. Will seemed to hesitate for a moment, but at length, he gave Allan a curt nod and turned away.

Djaq stood at the ready, and Allan allowed his amusement to show. She was tiny, even more than she had been in his memory, and to see her with her sword held out, her expression defiant and menacing was both frightening and oddly touching. _I've missed you so much._

Their swords clashed as Allan blocked Djaq's blow. He pushed her away a little and then thrust the sword right at her. She moved back quickly, but not nearly as fast as she should have in a real fight.

"Bit slow there, Djaq. Need to keep your feet moving, or I might get a lot closer with my blade next time."

Djaq snorted, obviously not impressed. She circled around him, waiting for the right opportunity. Allan used the chance to get a good look at her. She looked only a bit different. Her hair was a bit longer, like she'd chopped it off and let it grow out again. The clothes were different too, looser and cut like they were made for a man. It always amused Allan that for all her effort, she always ended up looking even more feminine, in spite of the clothes. He strained to get a look at her more feminine attributes and then shook his head. Djaq was Will's woman now, and he would not sully his relationship with either of them by thinking of her in any other way.

His temporary reverie had cost him and Djaq had moved in for the lethal hit. He managed to duck the blow and parried quickly just as she brought her sword down. Their blades crashed together. He tried to use his weight to push her off, but Djaq resisted, with the result that they ended up nearly face to face.

Allan was wistful as he considered that this close proximity would have been perfect a few years ago. He shrugged off the regret and decided it was as good an opportunity as any to ask her a few questions.

"So, why did you come back?"

"What?"

Djaq's expression, until that moment one of total concentration, changed to one of confusion. She relaxed and with her resistance removed, she lost her balance and fell onto the ground. Allan dropped his sword and considered helping her, but remembered that Djaq usually resented that sort of assistance. He let her be, instead fixing her with a stare and demanding an answer to his question.

"Why did we come back? Why do you ask?" Djaq asked, her voice matter-of-fact, as she scrambled back on to her feet and dusted dirt off her clothes.

"I saw the money you gave Robin. I see the clothes you're wearing, what Will's wearing. You had money, rank, in the Holy Land.

"Why would you leave that to come back to this?" he spat. "You had it good there!" Allan fought to keep the bitterness out of his voice, that tiny niggle in the back of his mind that told him Will and Djaq had been living it up while he-they, all of them-had struggled and starved, near slaves to Robin's every whim.

Djaq evaded the implication, shrugging as she answered. "It did not feel right. We wanted to come back to all of you."

He shook his head. "No, I don't buy it. There's no way you left your home for this. There's no way Will would ever let you come back to being poor...an outlaw!"

Allan watched as Djaq bristled. "Don't presume to know everything, Allan! We came back because this was our home. When Bassam died-"

"When Bassam died, you got a lot of money, Djaq! You should have stayed there, lived your lives. In comfort, with money and food and a proper roof over your head!"

"That is not the only thing in the world that matters, Allan. Money is nothing, it's-"

"No, Djaq. No more lies. I don't believe all that. Tell me straight why you're here."

"I told you-"

"No, the truth!"

"The truth?" Her voice rose high in the clearing, and Allan began to worry that he'd pushed her too far. "The truth is that nobody wanted us there. The truth is that we were always in danger there."

She threw her sword down in frustration. "The truth is that Will nearly died there."

"What?"

Djaq didn't answer, instead turning away from Allan. He was suddenly aware of her acute discomfort, of Djaq being on the edge of tears. Djaq's anger he could deal with, but this emotion was new to Allan, and left him feeling awkward around her.

Gingerly, he reached out and put a hand to her shoulder. She relaxed almost instantly, crumpling to the ground, and covering her face with her hands.

"Djaq, I had no...what happened?"

"I do not know." She spoke through the tears. "Someone attacked him, left him to die. It was just luck that we found him, or..."

She turned to him, tears streaming freely. "Do you see why we came back? I could not risk his life. I could not lose him, not after all this."

Allan was too stunned to speak, the horror of Will almost dying enough to still his tongue, at least for the moment. Instead, he folded Djaq into his arms and held her, a silent apology for his own words and for everything she and Will had suffered.

-000-

Will watched Allan consoling Djaq from a distance. His first instinct had been to run over and club Allan over the head with his axe for making Djaq cry. But with an effort, he'd fought back the urge and just watched. After a few moments, he decided to leave them to it. He was certain that Allan would never do anything to intentionally harm Djaq, and certain also that any jealousy he felt towards Allan was misplaced. He considered that Djaq would have just laughed at him, and probably only after she'd hit him for his presumption.

With supreme effort, he turned his gaze away from Allan and Djaq and back to the scene before him. Nobody had offered to take him on in a practice fight, which was both surprising and disappointing. He had a sense it was the sight of the axe that did it, and he was oddly pleased about that. It was not the most formidable weapon, but few knew how to counter it with a sword, and that slight advantage had won Will many a fight.

His disappointment at not finding a sparring partner had been tempered by his happiness at getting a chance to see the other men in action. Allan's men were at various skill levels. A few were very good with their weapons, their stance and footwork suggesting experience. Most, however, relied on feinting and dodging over actual use of their weapons. It amused Will to watch them, because they fought almost exactly the way Allan did, effectively but without much skill. _He's taught them well_.

But the one who intrigued Will the most was the mute girl. She was slight, not short but very thin, and she used her lack of size to her advantage, moving quickly and keeping her weapon in front of her all the time. Her sword too was a marvel, perfectly balanced, as if it had been made just for her. There was something oddly familiar about the way she fought, but Will could not quite place it.

There were other things about her that intrigued him as well. For one, he was certain Djaq was wrong about the girl. Will did not know why, but he was sure the girl could hear. There had been a deaf woman in Locksley village a long while ago, and Will remembered the woman could barely communicate with anyone, much less figure out what people were saying with hand signs or by reading lips. But he also knew people who just chose to stop talking, because they were hiding something, or because talking served no purpose. He'd done it himself for almost a year when he was much younger, and he suspected this girl was doing something similar. Whatever it was, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

"You should be more careful..."

Will turned around, confused at the sudden interruption. It was Peter, the man with the scar. Will frowned at him.

Peter gestured behind him, at where Djaq and Allan were talking quietly with each other. "You stare any more at her, and your woman might take it the wrong way." The man smiled genially, but the scar across his face twisted the expression into a sneer, and Will had to force himself not to look away.

Will shook his head. "It's not like that." He eyed the other man, caution and curiosity mingling in his mind. Peter was older, or at least he had the appearance of a man whose youth was long past. He was tall and bulky, not the sort of man you would want to provoke, especially given the scar. It was a dangerous man who took a bad hurt to the face and survived. Will guessed Peter had probably been an outlaw for a very long time.

"Peter, is it?"

"Right. Peter of Doncaster, they call me."

Will fingered the hatchet at his belt, more out of habit than to threaten, but Peter caught the gesture and backed away a little.

Will tried to put the man at ease. "Doncaster? You're a long way from home."

"Aye, I am. We all are."

"All?"

Peter waved an arm around the clearing. "Most of us here. I'm from Doncaster. Simon and Thomas," he pointed at the two younger men at the far side of the clearing, "they're from up Rotherham way."

Will nodded and gestured at the deaf girl, who had now dispatched her opponent and was sitting cross-legged on the ground looking rather pleased with herself. "And her?"

Peter frowned, and then shrugged dismissively. "Don't rightly know. She can't tell us anyhow."

Will decided not to press Peter until he had a better measure of the man. But he considered there was no harm in asking a few pointed questions.

"So why are you all here? And from so far away?"

Peter considered Will for a long while before answering. "I can't speak for everyone, but I liked the idea of doing something, helping someone."

Will nodded and then gestured at Peter's face. "Is that how you got that?"

Peter smirked. "You ask a lot of questions." He gestured to the opposite end of the clearing, where Allan and Djaq were. "And how did you get that?"

Will narrowed his eyes at the man. "You ask a lot of questions too."

Peter snorted, and started to say something, but Will cut him off.

"Shhh. Listen. Horses. On the North Road."

Peter gaped at him. "How do you know that?"

Will allowed himself a satisfied smile. "I just do."

Peter seemed incredulous, but Will's suspicions were confirmed a moment later, when Robin called a halt to training and silence fell on the clearing. Robin began to quietly signal all of his men into position.

Whether out of instinct or from experience, they all knew just what to do. Will waved Peter, the deaf girl and her practice opponent over to the edge of the ravine, and they followed without question. Will dropped down into the ravine, and the girl copied him, but moved to the edge of the ravine, standing in front of Will, as if she were protecting him. This amused Will greatly. Peter and the other man took shelter behind a nearby tree instead, acting as lookouts. Peter nodded once in Will's direction before nocking an arrow into his bow.

Will felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out Robin advancing slowly into the clearing, bow at the ready. From somewhere above them, a long whistle sounded, followed by two sharp blasts, and Will watched as Robin lowered his weapon and turned away from the road. Will looked around in confusion before catching Peter's eye.

The man shook his head and whispered. "That signal means no ambush. Monks."

"Monks? They have money. Why no ambush?"

Peter looked appalled. "We don't steal from the Church."

"We don't? Since when?"

Peter did not answer, but the girl turned around and laughed, catching Will's eye before getting up and running towards the clearing.

Will watched her go, a new thought forming in his mind. _Caught you. You can hear_.

-000-

Djaq sat down heavily, exhausted and famished. She had been relieved when the ambush had turned out to be a false start. She'd thought she was up to any challenge, but her bout with Allan had shown her she had lost some speed and a lot of skill in the time she and Will had been away. She was out of practice, and would need to train hard to regain her old form.

When the excitement of the near-ambush had dissipated, she had realized just how hungry and tired she was, but she was loathe to admit this to anyone, lest they think her weak or unprepared. She cast her eyes around the group, and finally spied Will climbing out of a dip in the road. He was dusting leaves and dirt off his cloak, when he caught her eye, and smiled in a meaningful way.

He held out a bowl to her, and she wondered at how many times this same gesture had passed between them without any remark from her. _How was I once so blind to all this?_

"I thought you'd be hungry."

She sipped quickly, finding the stew too bland and already too cool for her taste. "I am. Starving, actually."

She gave him a quick glance. "What do you know?"

"What?"

"You have that look on your face. It makes me think you know something I don't."

He smirked. "I know lots of things you don't."

"Do you?" She raised an eyebrow at him, suggestive and teasing.

He colored predictably and bowed his head. "I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did."

Will chuckled. "Maybe a little. But there is something else. I think that-"

He did not get a chance to finish. Robin clapped him gently on the shoulder, looking contrite and just a bit sheepish. Djaq amused herself by wondering if Robin thought he'd interrupted a private moment.

She was tempted to laugh, but the expression on Robin's face was a serious one, and it made the wrinkles around his eyes and the lines etched into his forehead more pronounced. _He has aged ten years in just a few months._ _Poor man_.

Robin held out the bag of gold she had given him earlier in the day. "I've thought about it, and I've decided I don't want this. You should keep it."

Djaq looked at him in confusion, unsure of what to say. Will stepped into the breach. "It's alright, Robin. We want to help."

"I know. But there are things I need more than your money. I need your help. With my men-these new men."

Djaq nodded. "Of course. We will do whatever we can."

Robin nodded. "Our other camp, the one in the north, is near a village called Newstead. It's very close to a larger town, a church town-"

"Southwell, right?" Will interjected, startling Djaq a little. It was easy to forget he actually knew the county better than she did, just as it was easy to forget Will had ever been more than an outlaw.

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Southwell. There's a small monastery as well, at Newstead." He turned his attention to Djaq, focusing all his energies on her. "The monks there take pride in their skills as healers.

"And they're trying to build a hospital."

Djaq's interest was piqued almost instantly. "That is very commendable."

"It is." Robin's enthusiasm was clear in his voice, and Djaq was both touched and awed by it. "They treat most of the villagers. And they do it for nothing, they never ask for money or any other sort of payment."

He paused and fixed his gaze on Djaq before speaking again. "The thing is, there is still much knowledge these monks do not have. I think they would very much like to hear what you have to say...about the Saracen ways of healing, about the hospitals in the Holy Land.

"Will you go to Newstead? With Little John?"

Djaq turned to Will, whose silence surprised her. They exchanged glances, a frown forming on his face before he nodded. Djaq smiled and gave Robin her answer.

"Yes, of course. Will and I said we would do anything to help and we meant it."

Robin gave her a sharp look, and then lowered his eyes, shuffling his feet as if he were in discomfort.

"That's just it. It's not that simple...I need you to be in Newstead, Djaq. But just you."

Djaq knit her brow, confused. Will stood up suddenly, the frown on his face now a scowl. "What?"

Robin looked alarmed at first, but the expression changed quickly, to one of determination edged with sadness.

"The situation is delicate. I need your help, but I can't afford to upset anyone."

"Anyone but us, you mean?" Will's voice was low and quiet, a tone Djaq recognized as dangerous.

If Robin realized Will was angry, he remained unfazed by it. "We are in the middle of a very dangerous game, and we can't afford to make any wrong moves."

He nodded in Djaq's direction. "I don't mean any offense, and I certainly don't intend any hardship for you. I understand if you can't help."

Djaq did not hesitate. "No, Robin. You are right to ask, and I want to help. Of course I'll go with John. It will be-"

Will turned to her, his face unreadable but anger clear in his eyes. "What? No, you can't go. Not by yourself."

She reached out to him and grabbed his sleeve, speaking in a low and soothing voice. "Listen, love. This is nothing. Just something we must do now, and-"

He wrenched his arm out of her grasp and glared at her. "Is it just that easy for you then?"

Djaq struggled to find an answer, but before she could speak, Will had turned on his heel and tramped off into the woods.

Djaq watched him go, a mixture of anger and fear settling in her stomach. She got up to go after him, but a shadow fell across the path in front of her. It was Allan.

"Listen, you stay here. I'll go. I know how to talk to him."

Djaq bristled. "_I_ know how to talk to him. He's my husband."

"Yeah." Allan said nothing else, but he gave her a meaningful look, and after a beat, Djaq relented and nodded.

"Fine. Tell him I am-"

"No, you tell him yourself. I'll be back in a bit. With Will."

-000-

Allan trudged across the clearing and into the darkened copse of trees to the south. His mind was buzzing with what he had just witnessed. In all the time he had known Will and Djaq, even before they had truly known each other, he had never seen them quarrel openly. In fact, aside from that business with the black powder ledger, he couldn't remember when the two of them had even disagreed on anything. To see them in the middle of a full-on row was disturbing, but also oddly gratifying. They were not perfect after all.

He found Will sitting under a tree, whittling wood with angry stabs of his knife. His entire posture spoke of rage and disappointment, and for a moment, Allan balked. _This is for them to sort out, what am I even doing here? _He began to back away, but his foot caught on a twig, and the snapping sound echoed through the trees, making Will look up.

Allan drew in a deep breath and walked towards the other man. "Listen, Will. I think it's time I head out to Torloton. You should come with me. It will be-"

"No."

"You'll like it...good place, good lads. Really good ale at the brewhouse in the village."

Will glared at him, but said nothing. Allan sighed, and tried the direct approach. "Look, just come back to the clearing with me. We'll talk about it there. You can tell Djaq-"

"Don't."

Allan pretended not to hear the warning in Will's voice. "You can talk to Robin. He's...difficult, but he's fair. You know that. You should-"

Will shook his head, looking miserable. "Look, Allan. This isn't really about you, so maybe you should-"

"Yeah, but that's not the point, is it? You're ticked off with Robin, and not just about this. But it's not right for you to row with Djaq over what Robin does."

Will fixed Allan with an angry stare. "Yeah, well, like I said. Not really your business, is it?"

Allan braced himself and plunged ahead. If he couldn't convince Will any other way, he would just have to play a little dirty.

"You know something, Will? You're an idiot."

Anger fell away from Will's face, leaving confusion behind. He knit his eyebrows and tried to stare Allan down.

Allan smirked. "Yeah, an idiot. I'd never row with my woman." He paused, letting his words sink in while he gauged just how angry Will would get. "If Djaq was my-"

"Allan, don't."

Allan shrugged, feigning an indifference he did not feel. This was his big gambit, the thing he was certain would spur Will to act, to come back to the clearing. "I'm just saying. If I was with Djaq, there's no way I'd leave her alone for even a minute." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Leastways when there's someone else around who fancies her."

He stopped speaking and waited for his words to sink in, for the inevitable show of rage from Will. But none came. Instead, Will shot him a look of pure ice and walked away in the opposite direction.

-000-

Robin checked the contents of his pack one last time before setting off to the north edge of the ravine with Allan's men-his men. There were the usual things, his maps, feathers and twine for fletching new arrows, a clean shirt. There was also enough food in the pack for three men.

Robin smiled at the sight of the day-old bread and half-wheel of cheese, silently thanking Much for his concern. The others, even the newer men, mocked Much for his obsession with food, for the way he fussed about Robin all the time. But Robin had trudged through the scorching desert with Much, starved and nearly dead of thirst, and he had the measure of the man. The others could not know what it was like to be desperate and hungry, and yet still know that you had to be ready to fight another day. But Much knew, and for that Robin was both grateful and sad.

_You have borne many things for my sake, friend. When all this is over, you will be rewarded. _

Robin was still poking around in his pack when he heard a pointed clearing of the throat behind him. It was Little John, wearing a look that reminded Robin of a wounded bear, hurt but still very dangerous.

Robin sighed, knowing why John was angry long before the other man spoke. He gestured to the ground in front of him, asking John to sit, but the big man shook his head and kept to his feet.

"This is bad, Robin. It's not right to separate the two of them."

"Relax, John. It's not like I'm forcing them apart or anything."

"Then why? Why not just let them be?"

"Listen. You know as well as I do there's going to be a battle here soon, a war. I need the church on my side-the King's side.

"If having Djaq there, helping the priory with its new hospital, makes the prior grateful, he'll speak to his bishop at Southwell. He'll speak to Ely, and so on. I need to make this work."

"Fine, I understand. But why send Will to Torloton? Why can't he just come to Newstead with me?"

Robin shrugged. "I don't know. I thought Will would be good for the men in Torloton, make good lads out of them."

John huffed, bristling at the insinuation. "My men are good lads already."

"I know. And Will would make a good leader for them. Especially with Allan there too."

John narrowed his eyes, studying Robin. "But that's not all, is it?"

Robin shuffled his feet and looked out of sorts. "I didn't want to say it before, but the monks at Newstead...

"It will be hard enough to convince them there's something to be learned from a Saracen. A Saracen woman at that. But if they see her with Will? If they see she induced a Christian man to marry her? They'll never help us-"

"Induced? You make her sound like a witch."

"It's not what I'm saying, it's what _they'll_ say.

"Besides, it may not mean anything to us, but it's against the law for a Christian man to marry outside the faith. You know that."

John drilled his quarterstaff into the ground, exasperated. "But we're outlaws. We're dead men anyway. What do we care about breaking the law?"

Robin hesitated, but then spoke quickly, as if he were in a rush to get the words out before they burned him. "I have hope we'll be pardoned. When the king returns.

"But there are some crimes that not even King Richard can pardon. And Will's marriage is one of them."

John sighed, angry at the world for thwarting all that was good in it. "It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter."

"It does matter, John, and it's not just because it's the sort of thing you hang for. Will could be excommunicated."

John gasped, and looked heavenward, crossing himself with great, if somewhat rushed, piety.

Robin caught the gesture and shook his head. "I don't think Will would take too kindly to being told his soul was damned for all eternity because he loves Djaq."

John nodded, and silence fell between the two men. Several moments passed, punctuated only by the sound of Robin's shuffling. At length, John spoke again, his voice soft and edged with disappointment.

"It's still not right, Robin. You're sacrificing your men's happiness for the King and-"

"I've sacrificed more than that already. Do you know what I've given up? Do you have any idea...?" Robin let his voice trail off, choked by sudden emotion.

"You think I'm cruel. Well, that's alright. But know that I'm not cruel, John, fate is. I'm just unlucky enough to be its instrument."

-000-

By the time Robin had gathered his men and their supplies together and left the clearing, the sun had begun to dip into the horizon and the forest grew dim in the twilight. Allan made his way out of the woods and into the clearing, and Djaq frowned, concerned that he'd returned without Will.

He met her eyes briefly and shook his head. Djaq's worry for Will, until now only a tiny ember in the back of her mind, fanned itself into a raging fire. She ran over to Allan and shook him. "Where is Will? Why didn't he come with you?"

Allan tried to evade her, but she persisted, and he gave in. He looked miserable as he spoke. "You're right. I shouldn't have gone after him. Just made things worse."

Relief flooded through Djaq's mind, even as irrational fear ebbed away. "So you saw him then? What did he say?"

Allan shrugged. "Nothing. You know Will. He never really says anything."

Djaq nodded, dismayed. She tried to figure out what Allan's words meant, what he was trying to tell her without spelling it all out. But it did not come to her immediately, and after considering it for a few moments, she decided not to bother. The puzzle of Allan's mind could wait. She would have to solve Will first.

"So where is he?"

"South. He walked off somewhere, but I think he's by the river. He was headed that way."

Djaq nodded and started off into the woods, but Allan pulled her back.

"Just...be careful. Alright?"

Djaq glared at him, a retort on the tip of her tongue. But she saw the care in his eyes and relented. "I will." He nodded, and just as she was about to leave, he tossed her a wrapped bundle of food and a skin of water.

She thanked him silently and began to make her way across the clearing.

"Allan, how will I find you? When I get back?"

"I'll be here. I'm not leaving without you."

"I'm not leaving either. Not until I've seen you and Will back here." It was Little John, adding his voice to the fray. Djaq nodded in their direction and set off into the underbrush.

-000-

Will cast his eyes toward the horizon and waited for the sun to set. He was at the spot where he and Luke had made the makeshift memorial to their father, but the stones were no longer in the right spot, shifted by wind, rain or perhaps even man. Dan's face did not look down on him from the outcrop, benevolent and wise, and the realization made Will deeply sad. _Even this is different._

He had been sitting in the same place for the past hour or so, ever since Allan's words had made him turn away from the clearing and walk further into the forest. At the time, he'd wanted to get away just to put enough distance between them, so he could fight off the urge to strike Allan. But on reflection, Will knew Allan had meant nothing by his words. They had just been an effort to get Will to change his mind. Besides, it was only Allan and he would understand, in that way of his.

Will was far more worried about Djaq. He'd had no cause to lash out at her. Robin's suggestion had not been her fault, after all, and indeed, he should have stayed behind and helped her make up her mind, instead of stomping off in anger as he had done. He cursed himself roundly for being a fool, and worse, a childish fool at that. The melancholy of a few moments before fled, and anger, this time at himself, took over. He picked up a rock and flung it violently into the distance, startling the tiny squirrel that had been trying to gnaw at his boot.

The creature scurried off, and Will called after it morosely. "Are you angry with me as well then?"

He heard a twig snap nearby, as in response, and even without looking, he knew it was Djaq. She stopped at the sound and spoke softly. "I am not angry with you. Nobody is."

He watched her walk over, trying to gauge her expression, but the shadows were longer now, and he could not see well enough in the half-darkness of this part of the forest. It was not until she was standing right in front of him that Will could see she just how sad she was. He felt a sharp pang at the sight, knowing he was the reason for her mood.

She took his hand, her touch uncertain, but still somehow soothing. "I'm so sorry, Will."

He nodded and kept his eyes on their hands, afraid to look her in the eyes, afraid he would see only sadness and disappointment."No, I've been an idiot. It's just..." He searched for just the right words, wondering how he could explain his behavior without trying to making excuses.

She threaded her fingers through his. "I will not go to Newstead, Will. Not without you."

Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it was full of truth and determination, and it gave Will the courage to face her. He brought a hand to her face and finally met her eyes.

"No, Djaq. It's not like that. It's just...I'm so scared.

"Do you remember what you said in Nettlestone that night?" Will's voice trailed off, as if he had choked on his words. "You said we'd be in different heavens." He shivered involuntarily.

"That means all we have is now, this life. And if we're not together, then..." He dropped his head, overwhelmed by his own words. For a long time, what felt like an eternity, Djaq said nothing. But she did not pull away from him, or even look away, and encouraged, Will looked up. There were tears pooling at the corner of Djaq's eyes, and again, Will felt the familiar stab of guilt in his chest.

He scrubbed at her tears gently, willing her to know what he felt, wanting her to understand what he could not put into words.

Djaq swallowed and moved his hand away. Disappointment replaced guilt in Will's mind, but before it could take hold, she took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "If this is all the time we have, then let us not waste it with sadness." She pressed her mouth to his, her lips soft but demanding. Will hesitated at first, but after a moment, he leaned into the kiss, feeding her determination with his own.

She broke the kiss and pressed closer, hands traveling over his chest and then lower, until she had the ties to his pants twined around her fingers. She pulled once, and waited for him to react. But instead of the surge of excitement he had expected, Will felt something very different. All the anger and bitterness of the day fell away, leaving only relief, melancholy and a deep exhaustion in its wake.

He gently pushed her hand way. "Later," he said. "I just want..." He could not bring himself to tell her he was too tired to go on. Will wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, hoping she would understand. And she was Djaq, so she knew just what he meant. She curled up against his chest and he tightened his arms around her, enjoying their closeness, the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair. He let out a long, contented sigh and Djaq echoed it. She kissed him softly, and after a few minutes, they both fell asleep.

-000-

When Will woke up, the sun was low in the sky, and the shadows warred with the red-gold embers on the forest floor. He stretched his arms and legs, then noted with dismay that there was no sign of Djaq anywhere.

Panic welled up in his chest, sharp and sudden. He stood quickly, hatchet in hand, alert for any sign of trouble. Where could she have gone? What if someone had found her? What if Gisborne had caught her again? All sorts of scenarios came to Will's mind, each worse than the next, as he hurtled through the trees trying to find Djaq.

Halfway to the river, he dropped his hatchet in surprise. He could clearly hear Djaq's voice, but rather than the screams and protests he was expecting, she was singing. In all the time he'd known her, she had never shown more than a passing interest in music, and he was certain he'd never heard her sing.

Will walked slowly in the direction of the sound, curious and amused. Djaq was many things, most of them wonderful, but she was not a particularly good singer. The song was not familiar, though after a few minutes, Will recognized the simple rhythm of the piece and its sing-song cadence from his own youth. It was a lullaby.

He finally saw Djaq, sitting at the edge of the stream in only her shirt, singing softly to her still-flat belly. It was the most wonderful thing he had seen in his short life, and for a time, he watched in silence, torn between the need to join her and the desire to let her have a bit of privacy.

Eventually, the song came to an end, and Djaq, perhaps sensing she was being watched, turned around and greeted him with a shy smile.

He returned the smile and dropped down onto the edge of the stream next to her. "I was worried, didn't know where you were."

Djaq nodded. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to wash before it got too dark." She raised an eyebrow at him, and then, standing quickly, she stripped off her shirt and stepped into the water, wading out a short distance before calling to him.

Will watched in amazement, not sure how to react. The sight of her, naked but obscured by the water, was a mixed blessing. Her lithe grace, the curves he had to conjure from memory, roused him, but there was also disquiet now. A few moments ago, he had seen her as she would be soon, a mother to a child, and Will could not fight off the feeling that it was wrong to desire her now. The thought vexed him, and he frowned as he watched her.

She caught his eye and giggled. "Are you just going to sit there with your mouth open? Or are you going to join in?"

Will hesitated, but on reflection, he decided he was going mad, because there was no real reason to turn down an invitation like this. He peeled off his clothes and joined her, walking in until the water was waist-deep and he was standing right in front of her.

Djaq moved closer and flattened her palm against his chest, studying it for a moment before gazing up at him. She gave him an odd look and dropped her hand.

"Will, are you alright?"

_Can you see everything then?_ He forced his disquiet down into some hidden corner of his heart and brought his hands to her waist. "I'm fine. It's just..." He cast about for some way to explain what he was feeling, but his thoughts were only half-made, and they made little enough sense, even to him. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

He moved his hands up from her waist to her shoulders, stroking her water-slicked skin with his fingers. It was different, touching her like this. The water made every plane, every curve of her body more definite, and as he molded his fingers to her skin, he marveled at her, at once so familiar and yet so intriguing. He let his hands travel lower, into the dip between her breasts, intent on his exploration. He cupped a breast, fascinated by its soft weight, the way it fit perfectly in his hand, how it seemed rounder and heavier than he remembered...

He stroked his thumb across her nipple, making her shiver and press herself closer to him. He murmured absently against her skin. "You're...you're different now."

She pulled away a little, looking confused. "Different? How?"

He pulled her back against him, not liking the distance between them. He cupped the other breast. "You're bigger. Here." He dropped his hand to her waist and then lower, caressing the curve of her hip. "And here."

"Oh." She gave him a frank look. "It's because of the baby. Things will change, Will. You might not like-"

He brought his fingers to her lips. "No more talking. Not now." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her roughly, prodding her lips open with his tongue until they yielded and she opened her mouth to his with a sigh of pleasure.

Djaq broke the kiss, trailing her mouth down his neck and across his collarbone. He tried to reciprocate, nuzzling her neck and stroking her back, trying not to be overwhelmed by his own desire, by his desperate need to make sure she was never parted from him. But all his care and self-control disappeared when she touched him. He felt her fingers on him, warm despite the growing cool of the water. He growled, and moved her hand away, picking her up by the waist and moving them both towards shore. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and clutched at him to keep her balance. "Will, what-"

He said nothing as he flopped down on the grassy embankment, unable to speak over the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing through his veins. He heaved her on top of him, grabbing her hips and pressing himself quickly inside her. She gasped as he entered her, surprised. But after a moment, she sat up and straddled him, rocking her hips against his as he thrust into her, trying to find their rhythm.

He lamented that he could not kiss her, or even really touch her, from this vantage point, but when he opened his eyes, he was awed once again just by the sight of her. Her eyes were closed, and her face was flushed with desire. The cooler air had combined with their coupling to raise goosebumps on her flesh, on the dark rings of her breasts. Will found himself mesmerized by the sight, unable to pull his eyes away, even as neared his own climax.

"Djaq," he groaned her name, overcome by the moment. Her eyes snapped open and as she locked her gaze with his, Will knew, with the perfect clarity that only the act of love could bring, that he was utterly and completely at her command. Her soul had called to him, and he had answered, surrendering all that he was and ever would be. All his conceit that he could have her had been as nothing, and it was she who had taken possession of him.

She was like the forest itself, rare and beautiful, but also wild and unpredictable. No man could hope to tame her and make her his. He had tried, in his own way, and he had failed. But as he spilled his life into her, as he heard her cry out his name over and over, he decided the sacrifice of his soul was well worth the reward of being able to walk with her, even if only for a little while_. I love you. There never was anyone else. There never will be._

He felt more melancholy than joy when it was over, but it receded as Djaq wrapped her arms around him. She laid her head against his chest, and they held each other until their breathing slowed and they came back to themselves. She snuggled against him, planting soft kisses on his chest. "I'm tired now," she said, laughter in her voice.

He allowed her amusement to dispel the last of his sadness. "Well, you should be. This wasn't my idea, after all."

"Oh? I do not remember you protesting a few minutes ago."

He laughed in response and gave her a tight hug, adoring her more than ever. He stroked her hair and her shoulders, after a few moments, she sighed and fell into a light sleep.

He willed his body to stillness and his mind to calm so that she could rest for a while, and as Djaq dozed, Will came to a decision.

-000-

Djaq startled awake as Will shook her gently. "What?"

"Get dressed. Quick." He rolled away from her. "I hear voices. Someone's headed this way."

She looked at him in alarm, and scrambled to find her clothes, putting them on in a haphazard fashion. "Who?"

"No idea. But I see light, probably torches." He had pulled on his trousers and had his hatchet in hand, but the rest of his things were strewn all over the embankment. They were in no state to ward off an ambush.

Djaq sent up a silent prayer and readied her dagger, prepared for anything, but deeply worried for their lives. Fortunately, it never came to that.

A moment later, Allan hurtled through the trees, nearly toppling her in the process. Behind him followed Little John and the mute girl, both carrying torches.

Allan spoke through panting breaths. "We were worried about you. Both of you. It's dark, and we thought you might be lost." Then, he noticed Will's half-clad state and gave them a curious look.

Djaq colored, feeling stupid in front of their friends, while Will pretended to be very interested in the underbrush and the tops of his boots.

John cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. "We'll go on back. Why don't you two just follow us? When you're ready."

Djaq nodded, thankful for John's understanding. Allan was still smirking at them in amusement, and she guessed some bawdy remark was on the edge of his tongue.

Will glared at Allan. "Do you mind?"

Allan chuckled. "Alright, yeah. Calm down, keep your shirt on. Oh, wait..." His words dissolved into his own laughter and he waved in their direction before following John and the mute girl into the woods.

Once they were out of earshot, Djaq sighed. "Well, that was...different."

"Yeah." Will was distracted as he searched for his things. Some of his tools had fallen out of his belt when he had undressed so hastily, and he was busy tracking them down in the underbrush. "It's probably good they came though. It's getting late."

Djaq nodded, jamming her feet into her boots and straightening her clothes. "Torloton is nearly a day away. It will be harder if we have to travel in the dark."

Will had been strapping on his toolbelt but stopped abruptly. She frowned at him. _What now?_

He took her hand in his. "Listen, Djaq. About that." She felt his thumb stroke over her knuckles. He was trying to reassure her, but Djaq felt only worry at the gesture. "I think you should go with Little John. To Newstead."

"What? After all this?" She squeezed his hand. "Why?"

"Because it's important." He brought her hand to his mouth, and kissed her fingers, the act so tender it nearly made Djaq cry. "I don't like being away from you. Not even a little bit. But we should help people, as much as we can, whenever we can.

"But not for the king. And not even for Robin. For all those people we've lost, the ones who cared. Your father, and mine. Bassam-"

"Marian."

Will nodded. "Yes, especially Marian."

Djaq smiled, cupping his cheek in her hand. "You are so good, Will Scarlett. The world will remember that about you."

He reddened and shook his head. "I don't care about all that."

"I know." She kissed him softly. "It will be very hard to be away. Impossible."

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. "We'll see each other soon. Say, in four days. Just meet me here, midday or so."

Djaq considered it and nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea. I'll find some excuse to slip away, shall I?"

Will laughed. "Well, after what they just saw, I don't think you'll really need an excuse."

She joined in his laughter, pleased his mood was so much better than even a few minutes ago. She kissed him again, this time more soundly. "I love you. Never forget it."

"I know. And I won't," he said. He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "Be careful."

She nodded, taking his hand again as they walked back to the clearing, to their friends and their new lives.

-000-


	27. Chapter 27: Ghosts

_A/N: Sorry for taking so long between updates. My real life has been insane recently. A quick update on where we are in the story. It's more than a year since the events of 2x13, and Will and Djaq have recently returned to England. They're reunited with Robin and the rest of the gang, but things are not as they should be. Everyone believes Gisborne is dead, but he's very much alive and has a riddle up his sleeve…_

**Chapter 27. Ghosts**

Leaves crunched under Djaq's feet as she and Little John began the long trek north to Newstead. He had been good company, solid and mostly silent. Every now and then, she would ask him about all that had happened in their absence. He would answer, but as always, John's answers were short, to the point, and not very informative. He was one of those rare men who said what was on his mind, and little else. Djaq was grateful for this, because she did not have the energy to guess at the true meaning of his words, as she often had to with Robin, or Allan and sometimes even with Will.

_Will…_She sighed, thinking of him and how determined he'd been to let her go, despite all his earlier anger. He never said it explicitly, but he must have known she wanted to go, whether with him or alone, and he had not been able to refuse her. _You are a good man, Will Scarlett, better than I deserve. _

John cleared his throat to get her attention. "There's a road coming up over that hill. We want to stay close to it, but not be seen. If we move fast, we might be able to get there before nightfall."

Djaq nodded and quickened her pace, a little worried if she could match John stride-for-stride the rest of the way. They had barely gone another hour before exhaustion caught up with her. She put a foot up on a large rock and leaned over, trying to catch her breath.

"John. Perhaps we could stop for a short while."

He knit his eyebrows, confused and concerned in equal measure. "You're alright?"

"Oh, yes. Just not so used to walking long distances any more. We can start off again in a few minutes though."

John nodded and leaned against a tree, watching her with narrowed eyes. "Why did you come back?"

"What?" Djaq gaped at him, surprised his question mirrored Allan's so much.

"It's stupid. You never should have come back."

"I don't think—"

"You had a chance, a real chance! To have a proper life, to live like real men!" John was distraught, and his voice boomed in the quiet of the forest.

His hand stiffened around his quarterstaff, his knuckles white, and Djaq could see the effort of his restraint. "If I had one chance, even a small chance, to be with Alice again. To be with my son again, I would take it.

"And nothing, not the king, not the war, not even Robin, would bring me back here.

"But you two, you came back. To this? For what? To live like outlaws?"

"John, you don't understand. We had to come back. It was not easy for us in the Holy Land." Djaq tried to find the words to explain the things she and Will had seen, the dangers they'd faced, but as much as she could see it in her mind, the words would not come. She shook her head and lapsed into silence. Thankfully, John too became quiet and the two of them stayed that way for a good long time before setting back out onto the road.

They made it to the end of the road by nightfall, stopping only once more, to eat the last of the bread and cheese in their packs. John had remained resolutely silent the rest of the way, and Djaq had been thankful, for it had given her the chance to think.

She had not really considered before that an outlaw's life was not desirable. She had never known any other life in England, and though times were hard and danger was constant, it seemed, in its way, a better life than the one she and Will had shared in Acre. But John had a point. They lived outside the norms of proper society here, which meant they had none of the benefits of living with others, of abiding by the law, and expecting its protection in turn. They could not rely on the aid or comfort of others during a sickness or childbirth.

Djaq stopped short, bringing a hand to her belly. Having a child in the forest was madness! There would be no physicians or midwives in the forest, nobody to turn to for a bit of wisdom when she needed it. Her child would be an outlaw, be condemned to live a life on the fringe of society, never having a proper education or learning a proper trade, never able to marry properly in the eyes of the law, never being able to have a real home with their families. _What have we done?_

And yet, she herself had lived in the forest long enough to know this life had its own charms. She and Will were insulated from the eyes of a society that still looked down on unions like theirs. She had managed all their illnesses, their fevers and their scratches before. Surely caring for a child would be no worse. More, the child would be safe from all the sickness and plague that often infested and spread quickly through towns and villages. Yes, the child would be an outlaw, but Robin was right, this was not forever. There would be a day when the English king would return and restore justice to the land. Any child of Will Scarlett's would certainly be pardoned.

Djaq rationalized the matter to herself, convinced she and Will had little choice but to return to England. Besides, they had always thought Robin had needed them, that their friends had wanted them to return. That much was obvious, despite Allan's distress and Little John's harsh words, she and Will had been missed. Any sacrifice they had to make was only temporary, a trial from God—or perhaps from Allah—so they could value their triumph all the more for it. Resolved that Little John's concerns had been addressed, at least in her mind, Djaq nodded to herself and put an extra burst of speed into her step as they began the last part of their journey.

At the north end, the road they'd been following veered sharply away from the forest, and in the distance, shrouded by clouds and waning light, Djaq could see the spires of a great church. She raised an eyebrow in John's direction.

"It's called Southwell Minster. Been here a long time, but it seems like they're always rebuilding it."

"It looks like a big town."

John shrugged. "I suppose it is. Not as big as Nottingham." He gave her a sharp look. "Just as dangerous though."

Djaq hesitated, a sharp retort on the edge of her tongue, but she controlled herself and said nothing. They walked on, the church looming ominously behind them as they left the road and made their way back into thicker forest.

"Listen, John—"

"I'm sorry. I should not have shouted at you before."

Djaq felt mollified, and more than a little sorry, for herself and for John. "I know you did not mean it. And I'm not angry."

"Robin shouldn't have asked you to come. It was wrong to split you two up."

Djaq nodded, unsure of what to say, especially considering her own sudden misgivings.

"But know that he didn't mean anything by it. Robin's not...well, he's not a bad man. He just sometimes doesn't see what's important. For the rest of us, I mean."

"I know, John. This is why we came back. So we can help. And not just with Robin," she added pointedly, knowing John would know what she really meant.

John gave her a quick smile, weary but reassuring. "Then you be sure to tell Will that. When you see him. Soon, I'm sure."

Djaq raised an eyebrow at him. "How do you know I'll see him soon?"

John chuckled in response, greatly amused. "We're almost there. Another half-mile maybe." He held his hand out to her. "Let's go, little Djaq."

-00-

The torch-lit shadows of Nottingham dipped out of sight as the forest path fell away from the road and made its way south. At first, Will had charged along, leading Allan and the mute girl towards Torloton. But as they'd moved steadily south, he'd begun to doubt whether he really knew the way, and had wisely dropped back, letting the other two set the pace.

They had slowed a little, because Allan liked to talk as he walked, and Will decided this was just as well. It kept him from thinking of Djaq and being miserable as a result. As soon as he'd seen her walk away with Little John, he'd regretted letting her go. But she had set her mind on helping Robin, and keeping her to himself, for just his own selfish need, would have been wrong. He never could say no to her anyway.

Moreover, he had absolutely no intention of staying away from her. He meant to seek her out in a few days, even if it meant walking all the way north to Newstead. They'd agreed to meet in four days' time at the old camp, and for Will, the days could not pass quickly enough. He wondered if she was just as anxious to see him again. His thoughts darkened, but he dismissed his worry as too petty for him or for Djaq. In the end, none of it really mattered. He loved her, he would be happy to see her, and that was the end of it.

Up ahead, Allan signaled to stop for a rest, and the three of them sat on the ground eating their tiny repast. The deaf girl ate politely, but when she was done, she wandered off somewhere, and Will's questioning look was met only by a non-committal shrug from Allan.

Still, Will was intrigued and wanted to find out more about the girl. There was something odd about her, and as much as he tried, Will could not shake off the feeling she was hiding something.

He watched Allan chewing through a hunk of bread, and decided to probe him for answers.

"So...where did you find her?" He waved in the direction of the path the girl had taken into the forest.

"We didn't. She found us." Allan took a swig from his canteen and passed it to Will. "Her name's Anne, by the way."

Will swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "If she can't talk, how do you know her name?"

Allan chuckled. "When did you become so suspicious?"

"I'm not. It's just...there's something off about her."

Allan shrugged, but didn't meet Will's eyes when he answered. "Seems fine to me. Better than fine. Nice set of legs on her, don't you think?" Allan pointed at the clearing where the deaf girl—Anne, Will reminded himself—had once again appeared.

Will gave her a quick once over, and then felt guilty about his scrutiny. "Yeah, I guess," he added, putting as much indifference into his words as possible.

Allan laughed heartily. "Don't worry, mate. I won't tell Djaq."

Will balked. "I'm not worried. Djaq would-"

"Relax, will ya? I didn't mean nothin' by it, and I know _you_ didn't. I'm just havin' a bit of a laugh is all."

Will nodded and stood, stretching out his legs as he picked up his pack. He watched as Allan signed something to Anne. She nodded quickly in response and sped off into the forest, in the opposite direction.

"What was that about?" He raised an eyebrow at Allan. "Isn't she coming with us?"

"No, she'll catch up later. She knows her way around. Better than me even."

Will chuckled, feeling his mood lighten, even if his questions about Anne hadn't really been answered. It was easy to fall into step with Allan, to talk to him and laugh with him. Soon this journey became like all the others he'd ever taken with Allan: carefree, but edged with a bit of danger. It was just the sort of thing that appealed to Will, even if he'd never admit such a thing to anybody else. It was the exact reason he'd decided to make a runner for Scarborough with Allan that time they'd stolen Gisborne's loot, before…

_Gisborne!_ Will brought a hand to his chest, and felt the scratch of the parchment against his skin. In the confusion of that morning, he'd forgotten about Gisborne's missive, and the riddle he'd set for them. He and Djaq would have to put their heads together and figure out what the man was up to. Once they knew all the details, they could at least warn Robin.

Then there was the problem with Robin, of course. Though his anger at the man had faded a bit, Will could not easily dismiss the disquiet he felt around Robin, someone he'd once had nothing but admiration and respect for. Robin was different now, a harder sort of man. It was as if he could no longer see his men for what they really were, simple, decent, afraid. Instead, they were soldiers of the king, as Robin himself was. _Maybe he can't even see himself anymore._ The thought made Will morose and he sighed heavily, prompting Allan to stare at him through narrowed eyelids.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Just thinking."

Allan seemed about to speak, but he simply shrugged and walked on, shuffling his feet and kicking up dust. They traveled in companionable silence for the next hour until they came to the end of the trail through the forest. The rest of the journey would be through thick tree cover and low brambles and bushes, and they both agreed it was best to rest up for it.

Will stretched his legs out, glad for a bit of a reprieve. He watched as Allan did the same, leaning against a tree looking as if he had no care in the world. But his face told a different story. There were small lines around his eyes now and around his mouth too. They spoke of worry and exhaustion, of a man trying too hard to put a pleasant face on a difficult life.

He wanted to know everything that had happened with Allan in the past year, since he'd come back to the gang and back to Robin's side. He was not particularly keen to dredge up old memories, but he had a sense that Allan would want—maybe even need—to make peace with it all. _I wish Djaq was here; she'd know how to get him to talk about it. _

"So."

Allan opened one eye, and then slowly opened the other, regarding Will. "So?"

"Everything alright? With you and Robin, I mean?"

Allan smirked. "Well, I'm here, right?"

"Robin went back on his promise to kill you if you ever came back, did he?" Will kept his voice light, masking his genuine curiosity, his real concern, but Allan seemed to pick up on his true intent.

"It wasn't easy, you know. Coming back." Allan scuffed the ground with his boots, not meeting Will's eyes. "It meant I was wrong about everything. Wrong about wanting to leave. Wrong about Robin. Wrong about Gisborne."

"Well, you—"

"Nobody likes being wrong, Will. Leastways me." He fell silent, as Will tried to figure out how to prolong the conversation without prying too much.

At length, and after several more minutes of reflection, Will cleared his throat and began to speak. "It was the right thing to do though. In the end, you came back. That means a lot."

He hesitated before adding, "Even to Robin."

Allan gave Will a sharp look. "Yeah. About Robin. Don't be too hard on him. He's—"

"I'm not. I just...wish things were the way they used to be. The old Robin would never have—"

Allan picked up a tiny pebble and turned it over and over in his hand. "That's it, innit? There's no 'old Robin' anymore. He's not like he used to be."

He sighed. "Do you know what happened on the way back from the Holy Land?

"In all that time, Robin only talked to us once. Once in three months!" He chucked the pebble into the woods, and it landed with a thunk that seemed to echo his frustrations.

"All he wants now is the king, back safely in England and on the throne, and the Sheriff defeated. Maybe even dead." Allan shrugged, as if any of these outcomes were the same for him.

"I'm sorry about what he's done though. He shouldn't have sent Djaq to Newstead."

Will nodded, grateful for Allan's sympathy, but reluctant to talk to him about Djaq.

Allan kept his eyes on Will. "Why'd you let her go anyway?"

"I...it wasn't up to me. She wanted to go, so she did."

A chuckle was all he got from Allan at first, but after a moment or two, Allan added, his voice so soft Will had to strain to hear him, "I didn't mean what I said before. About fancying Djaq."

Will met his eyes for a second, but looked away, decidedly uncomfortable and certain he did not want to have this conversation with Allan.

But Allan kept talking. "I mean, I did. Once. Before. But that was then. You know? Now I'm just...I mean, I'd never—"

He was rambling, and Will let his irritation take over. "Allan! Just stop, yeah?" He uncoiled his long frame and stood up, picking up his pack. "We should get going."

Allan looked stricken, but after a moment of hesitation, he picked up his things and began to follow Will. They had walked for nearly half a mile in silence, when Allan cleared his throat to get Will's attention.

"Listen, I just want to say one last thing. Don't stop me, alright?" He held up his hand to ward off Will's protest. "Listen, about Robin..."

"You don't have to explain it to me, Allan. I know he's been through a lot. Lost so much."

"It's not just that though. It's..." Allan struggled to find the right words, and shook his head in frustration. "You said you wanted everything to be like before? Well, it can't be.

"Robin feels bad, guilty, about everything else that's happening. That he can't do anything about.

"The thing is, that's not our fault. We have to keep doing what we used to do, and not worry about how different he is.

"Whatever he's feeling, it's his burden. His cross to bear, you know?"

_Cross to bear?_ Will stopped short, Allan's words getting his attention, and pricking his memory. He reached inside his tunic for the piece of parchment with Gisborne's message. "Listen, Allan. I need your help with something."

-00-

They arrived at the outlaws' northern camp just as the smell of the day's first meal wafted through the air. Djaq's stomach clenched, oddly nauseated by the smell, even though she was famished and craving a good hot meal.

Little John caught her train of though. "That will be Much, making breakfast."

"Of course."

The camp turned out to be two dilapidated wooden structures at the edge of a large church courtyard. The smaller of the two, little more than a shack, was the source of the lovely aroma, and she and John headed straight at it, like moths to a flame.

They were both tired, hungry and still a bit wet. They had intended to make camp by nightfall, but a sudden downpour had driven them into the forest, where they took shelter under a large outcrop over the Trent. By the time the rain stopped, it was far too late to carry on, so they'd just stayed the night in the woods. Djaq had been relieved beyond measure when the sun finally came up, for it had been the worst night of sleep she'd had in years. _I miss Will._ She laughed and chided herself for being a sentimental fool. They'd barely been separated a day, and she was already pining for him like some lovesick fool. She scolded herself under her breath, a sharp reminder that she was here to help Robin, and everything else would just sort itself out.

As they neared the door to the shed, John motioned her behind him and put a finger to his lips, mischief glinting in his eyes.

Djaq decided to play along, amused and curious. She slid behind the frame of the door as John let himself in.

"Much," John bellowed, and Djaq heard a clattering of spoons and bowls in response.

"Well, where have you been? You were supposed to be here yesterday!" Much's indignation was obvious, and Djaq could well imagine his indignation.

"Something came up."

Djaq could hear the edge of laughter in John's voice and she struggled to keep from giggling herself.

"In fact," John added, "I've brought someone with me."

Djaq heard Much huff in response. "What? That'll be another person to feed. We don't have enough food as it is. I don't know if I can spare anything and—"

She decided to put an end to Much's rant and walked in. "Not even for an old friend, Much?"

Much stared at her, his mouth working but not making any sound. She laughed and rushed over to embrace him. He recovered from his shock and hugged her back, chuckling happily.

He held her away from him for a moment. "Djaq! It's really Djaq!" He hugged her again and then let her go abruptly. "Well, of course it's you. I mean...it's just such a surprise."

He looked around expectantly. "And where's Will?" Much strode purposefully to the door and ducked his head through it, checking behind the frame. "Is he hiding from me?"

John cleared his throat, and Much's face fell when he caught the expression on his face.

Djaq tried to explain. "Will—"

Much gasped in alarm. "He did come back here with you, didn't he? I mean, he's not...you know, dead or something?"

It was Djaq's turn to be alarmed. "No, of course not. We returned to England together."

"He's in Torloton. With Allan," John emended, sparing Djaq the need to explain further.

"Ah." Much's face changed as comprehension dawned. "Probably Robin's idea, eh?"

John said nothing, preferring to just shuffle his feet awkwardly, and Djaq decided to keep her silence, not wanting to rehash old arguments about Robin.

Much did not wait for a response anyhow. "Well, I have no idea what Robin is thinking these days." He scowled as he spoke, and she thought he had more to say on the matter but was forcing himself to silence.

"Much—" she began, but he interrupted her with a cheery smile and a flourish.

"You two must be hungry. Breakfast's almost ready." He handed Djaq half a loaf of bread. "You should try this. It's the best bread I've had in years."

Djaq devoured the bread. It was not quite fresh, but it was delicious, much like the loaf the deaf girl had given her. In fact, it tasted almost exactly the same.

She knit her eyebrows together and stared at Much. "Do you bake this here?"

"No!" Much looked shocked. "I don't have any of the right stuff to do that anyway." He waved in the direction of the churchyard. "The priory has its own baker though, and they give us fresh bread every few days." He looked sheepish as he added, "Why do you ask?"

Djaq shrugged. "It is very good bread, Much. I was just curious." Inwardly, however, Djaq's mind was awhirl. Will was right, there was something just a bit strange about the deaf girl, and if her suspicions were right, she was stealing! From Much at that. She was going to have to get to the bottom of that.

- 00-

Will stood up, squinting at the sun and rubbing the back of his neck. It had been a rough night, sleeping in a new place with strangers. _Not that I slept much._ It had been too difficult to find comfort on the bed roll they'd given him, and without Djaq—without her warm breath on his shoulder and the feel of her skin under his fingers—he tossed and turned all night, ultimately giving up and hoping for an early dawn.

The camp at Torloton was not a particularly impressive sight, at least not at first. It was a set of small caves at the edge of the forest, and it's only apparent advantage was that it was far enough away from the road to provide the gang with good cover.

By the time they arrived, night had fallen and a driving rain had left everyone in the caves cold and damp, more so than usual. But now, with the pale light of the morning streaming through, Will could see the cave was much larger than he'd first realized. The entrance was wide, and in a corner, Will could see swords and bows and other things propped against the wall, ready to be picked up at a moment's notice. The cave narrowed towards the back, and there was a tiny entrance leading to a series of smaller caves. These places were dark and lit only with torches. But they were also dry and well hidden from prying eyes, the perfect place for Robin Hood's men.

The gang here had begun to store things for the winter: wool, blankets, grain, and seed. Will was heartened to see it, but he was struck by all the things the men in Torloton did not have. The camp did not have bins to store the seed, nor chests to keep weapons and whetstones. There were no proper tools that Will could see, and though he'd seen several men rolling up their bedrolls that morning, it did not seem as if there were no pallets for sleeping. Ideas began to form in his mind, odd shapes and lines, and Will knew that if he took the time to really think on it, he'd be able to come up with plans for a new camp. Excitement welled up inside him, and he bounded out of the mouth of the cave and down to the edge of the river. If he could find some wet soil or even a bit of clay, he could make models and show the others...

In his excitement, he barely even noticed the man watching him, as he dug his fingers into the river's earthen bank. The soil was perfect, wet and cold and easy to mold. He mixed a ball of it up with some twigs and leaves and began to build a copy of the cave. A shadow fell across the ground in front of him, and Will looked up, frowning in annoyance.

A dark figure in a hooded cloak stood before, and Will had to squint to see him properly. He huffed in irritation. "Can I help you?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing!" The other man laughed, and Will noted his odd accent, not quite foreign, but not quite English either.

"I was just..." Will dropped the lump of mud he'd been holding. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Ah." The man moved closer, and as he did, Will saw the man's cloak was really a monk's cowl. He gaped at the monk and stammered. "Who are you?"

The monk looked sheepish. "I should have told you that to start with. I saw you with Allan yesterday, but it was late, and I did not want to keep you from your bed. Such as it is."

"You're one of Robin's men then?"

The monk laughed. "I prefer to think I am one of God's men, as we all are. But for now, yes, I'm with Robin. As you are."

"Yes." Will rubbed the grime from his hand onto his tunic, and held it out in greeting. "I'm Will Scarlett."

"I know. Allan told me." The monk took his hand and shook it firmly, his expression friendly if guarded. "I'm called Daffydd ap Owen. David Bowen to you English."

"You're a Welshman."

"Yes." David kneeled and picked up the ball of clay Will had thrown away. "Were you hoping to mortar the cave with this?"

Will chuckled. "No, but it's not a bad idea, now that you mention it." He took the ball from David. "I was using it to make a model. Of the cave. I thought we could..." Will suddenly felt silly describing his plans. "I don't know. I just thought there was a way to make it better."

"Maybe I can help you." David cleaned off his hands as Will had before. "We have not had a proper place to sleep in a very long time." He pointed upwards. "How about there?"

"What? In the trees?" Will was incredulous.

"Why not? We could make small structures in the trees...enough for a man to sleep in and perhaps keep his weapons. But not big enough to be seen."

Will looked up into the trees. The idea was nonsense, but the more he pondered on it, the more it interested him. He could imagine a series of pallets anchored in the high branches of the trees, with maybe a system of levers or pullies to haul them up and down. It could work.

He tried to quell his excitement and turned his attention back to David, shrugging noncommittally. "Are you a craftsman?"

David laughed. "Hardly. Just a man with ideas. As you are."

"Yes, well..." Will felt uncomfortable and tried to change the direction of the conversation. "So what's a monk doing with Robin Hood?"

He got a frank stare and a shrug in response. "What is anyone doing with Robin Hood?"

Will wanted to press him a bit more, but he expected he would not get a clear answer, and his time was better used in other ways.

"I'm going to go find Allan, if that's alright with you." He waved his hand in the direction of the cave. The monk inclined his head politely and moved out of Will's way.

Will nodded in acknowledgement and walked away, wondering at the circumstances that would turn a man of God into an outlaw.

Djaq yanked on the roots of the plant until it came right out of the ground, clumps of dirt still stuck to the roots.

Behind her, a monk clucked his tongue in disapproval. "You must be more gentle, Mistress. The plant cries out, even if you cannot hear it."

A sharp retort was on the edge of Djaq's tongue, but she suppressed the urge and settled for a surreptitious roll of her eyes. The monk was assigned the task of introducing Djaq to the various herbs grown in the priory close behind the church. Some were herbs Djaq had seen many times before, but others were new to her, as were the remedies in which the monks used them.

In exchange for their herb knowledge, Djaq was teaching the monks what she knew of surgical methods. Yesterday, she had demonstrated how to sew a wound shut using the suturing method learned from her father. The monks had been impressed, and asked her to describe Saracen hospitals to them. In return, they agreed she was welcome to read any scrolls or books that were available at the priory.

It was a fair exchange, and whatever trepidation the monks had about learning from a Saracen—a heathen—had been overcome in just a day. She was grateful for the knowledge she received in return, but today, she was finding it hard to keep her irritation in check. The lesson was taking too long. Djaq had hoped to be done by mid-morning so she could head out to the old camp to see Will.

She hissed in irritation as she cut the feverfew flowers from their stems and nearly cut herself in the process. The monk clucked his tongue.

"You're in a terrific hurry, mistress. Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?"

"Yes!" As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Djaq knew she'd spoken too vehemently. She backtracked, feeling sorry for the monk. "I mean, er...I promised someone I would meet them. At midday."

"Ah." The monk scratched his chin thoughtfully. "In that case, I'll finish up for you. But please do come see me tomorrow. I'll show you our poultice room."

Djaq nodded, giving the monk a grateful smile. All that was left now was to head back to the barn and prepare for the day's journey. Once there, she tried to be quiet as she stuffed food and travel supplies into her pack, hoping to attract as little attention as possible.

No such luck. Much strode into the barn just as Djaq was hoisting the pack on to her shoulder. He looked alarmed as he raced up to her. "Where are you going? Are you leaving me?

"I mean, the priory. Are you leaving the priory?" He frowned at her. "The monks will be disappointed, you know."

Djaq sighed and tried to stay calm. "I'm not leaving Much. I just had...some errands to take care of."

"Where?"

Djaq panicked. "Um, Locksley. I need to see—"

Much clapped her on the shoulder. "Oh, good! I'm going there too. We can walk together."

She was ready to protest, all manner of sarcasm just on the edge of her tongue. But Much's smile was too bright and she could not disappoint him, so she plastered her most sincere smile on her face and set off into the forest with him.

Surprisingly, Much did not spend the entire journey chattering and complaining. He seemed content to simply walk with her, and it struck Djaq suddenly that Much was very lonely. _Of course! He's so far from Robin..._

"Much," she started slowly. "Are you...alright?"

He looked surprised. "Me? Yes, of course. I'm alright!"

Djaq shrugged. "I just thought...maybe you wanted to talk about everything that's happened. Since I last saw you, that is."

He wheeled on her, annoyed. "Well, we came back. That's what happened. Not that you'd know!"

Djaq stopped in her tracks and stared him down. "Excuse me. What?"

"You decided to stay in the Holy Land." Much was distraught, his voice more strident than usual. "But you should have come back! We needed you here.

"Everything would have been better that way!"

"Look, Much, you don't understand what—" Djaq hedged, weighed down by newly realized guilt, and unable to find the right words to explain what she herself was at a loss to understand in hindsight, thousands of miles from the Holy Land.

"Don't say that. I don't want to hear about how 'Much doesn't understand, Much is too simple.'" He took off his hat and dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Well, I'm not! And I do understand."

He put the hat back on and stormed off, but came back after a few minutes.

"Do you want to know why I never go anywhere with Robin anymore?"

Djaq said nothing, unsure whether she had words equal to the moment. She began to stammer out a response, but stopped short when Much sat down on the ground abruptly.

"I don't like Robin. Not anymore. Not the way he is now." Much huffed out the words and then stomped off into the forest, leaving Djaq staring after him.

She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling dizzy and out-of-sorts. So much had changed. She was rational enough to know that things could not be as they had been before. It was impractical to expect that everything would still be in its place, especially with Marian gone, and with so much time having passed already. But the one constant in her life in England, the one thing she thought not even death could shake was Much's loyalty—indeed, his unalloyed affection—for Robin.

And now even that was gone, washed away in the wreck of Robin's grief. She opened her eyes to find Much sitting on a rock, looking as lost and forlorn as she had ever seen him. The sight broke her heart, and she was seized with determination to make everything right again.

She strode over to Much and put a gentle handle on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She expected to see tears, but to her surprise, there were none in his eyes. His lips were set in a thin, straight line and he looked almost as determined as Djaq.

"I didn't mean what I said before," Much said, his voice soft but steady.

"I know, Much. I didn't—"

"Don't get me wrong. I didn't mean what I said about not liking Robin. But I did mean what I said about you and Will.

"You let us down when you didn't come back with us. You betrayed us. You can't just come back here, and expect us all to be happy!"

Djaq said nothing, trying to offer Much silent comfort with her touch and her understanding. He calmed a little, but the anger did not leave his face, and after a few minutes, Djaq stopped trying.

"You know what? I'm going back to the priory. I don't feel like going to Locksley today."

Djaq nodded. "I understand. But I still need to go, Much. I have someone waiting for me."

Much seemed about to protest, but his expression softened. "Ah, of course. You're off to see Will, aren't you?

"Will you be alright? On your own, I mean."

Djaq gave him a small smile, reassured that despite his angry words, Much was still as concerned about her as he had always been.

She waited for him to leave, his feet shuffling in reluctance and possible remorse at his own harsh words, and when she could no longer see him, she set off south for the old camp.

-00-

Will leaned against the east wall of the old barn near Locksley manor, keeping to the shadows and out of trouble. Most of the villagers knew him by sight, and though nobody would ever turn him in, he thought it was best not to take any horrible risks, especially now that Djaq was involved.

He allowed himself a grin at the thought of her. Their reunion had been breathless and desperate, and in the end, just a bit less than he had imagined. Not that he ever felt anything but happiness with Djaq, but things had felt not quite right. Mostly, he'd been worried by Djaq's mood. She had seemed sad and a bit out of sorts, so when she'd said she wanted to go into the village, he'd been happy to accompany her. He hoped that Matilda would be able to help with Djaq's melancholy.

A stooped old man came out of the tiny village church, catching Will's attention. It was the old priest, and he seemed exactly as Will remembered him from childhood. The building too was little changed. The roof needed repair and there were scorch marks on the walls. Will swore under his breath. He'd heard the rumors that Prince John had trapped the entire village inside and set fire to the church, all in a fit of pique! What was it about the rich and the powerful that they cared nothing for the suffering of others?

He felt a sharp ache in his chest at the thought of all the poor peasants, in this village and others just like it, who had suffered for no reason other than being born poor and in servitude. Good, strong people. Like his father, like his mother.

_Mother..._

He had not thought of her in weeks, perhaps longer, and he scolded himself sharply for having set her memory aside so quickly. He walked the short distance to the hillock behind the churchyard and found the tiny mound he'd been looking for. It was now so overgrown with weeds and grass that he could barely see the tiny row of yellow flowers Luke had planted after they'd buried her here.

It all happened so long ago, it felt almost like someone else's life. And yet, the pain of his mother's cruel death was as fresh as it had been on that cold winter day when they had brought her to her final rest. He sat on the ground and reached out to touch the grass, hoping she could feel his touch, knowing she was too far away to even perceive him.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I promised you I would take care of them." Tears began to well, and he scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, distraught and angry. "But I don't even know how Luke is doing. And Dad! Well, I didn't look after him, did I? He's gone too. Dead, because of me. Just like you.

"I'm so sorry." He dropped his head into his hands and cried for them, for the pain they'd endured, and for all the cruelty that still lived in the world.

-00-

They sat against a tree by the edge of the river, the forest dappled with long shadows and fading light. They rested, exhausted by the day's events and their long silent trek back from Locksley, each enveloped in their own sadness. They had picked a spot by the water and eaten in relative silence, neither wanting to share their thoughts with the other.

As his mood improved, Will considered telling Djaq about his strange encounter with the monk, and about how Anne moved in and out of the camp with ease, always on some mysterious errand. But he needed to work some of that out for himself, and he didn't want to worry her, in case it all turned out to be nothing.

He kissed her forehead. "I've missed you."

Djaq said nothing at first, but after a moment, she embraced him tightly and nuzzled her face into Will's shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was small, a bit worried.

"Things are very different than I expected."

Will frowned. "At Newstead? What happened?"

She shook her head. "Not just there. I didn't really think about it before, but so much has changed now.

"I do not think Robin speaks to any of the others very much. Not even to Much."

Will nodded. He had gleaned nearly the same from his conversation with Allan, and from the fact the rest of Robin's men in Torloton barely knew the man.

Djaq raised her head off his shoulder and gave him a frank look. "We need to help Robin."

"I thought that's what we—"

"No, I mean we need to help him get the king back. The sooner all this is over, the sooner Robin can heal, and the sooner the rift between Robin and the others can be mended."

Will watched her in awe. She had that look of determination he'd seen on her face often, whenever she took on a new task, or needed to convince the others she was right.

She sat up on her knees and held out her hand to him. "This is our task, Will Scarlett. Tell me you are with me in this."

Will did not hesitate as he put his hand in hers and squeezed her fingers. "Always. I promise."

Djaq smiled in satisfaction, but there was a far-away look in her eyes. It made Will uncomfortable, and he decided to move the conversation to happier things.

"So what did Matilda say?"

Djaq laughed. "I do not know why she does not like you to hear, but she thinks women's matters are best dealt with by women."

"That's probably true." Will shivered, remembering the birth of Matilda's grandchild in the camp. There had been a lot of screaming and a lot more blood and other leavings than he'd expected. Was Djaq going to suffer in the same way? Panic crept into Will's mind and he looked away from Djaq, trying to banish this sudden fear. In the trees, a sudden movement caught his eye. He gasped as he recognized the source.

Djaq raised an eyebrow at him, surprised. But after a moment, she nestled under his arm again. "Matilda says everything is going well. But she thinks I will need some new clothes soon." She put her hand to her belly, a bump now more obvious than it had been before, with Will's fingers still twined with her own.

He smiled at her. "It shouldn't be too hard to find bigger clothes. But do you think we should tell the others?"

She hesitated. "Not just yet, I think."

Will nodded. "You can't keep it hidden forever, I suppose. At least not from some people." He pointed upwards into the trees.

Djaq frowned at him. "You mean from God?"

"Well, yes, God. But right now, I just mean him."

He gestured at the tree they were leaning on, motioning Djaq to follow the direction of his fingers. Perched between two low branches was Allan.

-00-

Djaq watched in amusement, waiting for Allan to climb down. She crossed her arms and mock-glared at him. "How long have you been up there?"

Allan jumped to the ground and dusted himself off. "Long enough." He looked up and catching the expression on Djaq's face, he backtracked. "I mean, not that long. I didn't see nothin'!"

Djaq kept the mock-scowl on her face a moment longer, and cast a sidelong glance at Will to see how upset he was over Allan hiding in a tree and spying on them. But to her surprise, Will seemed as amused as she was.

She decided to get to the bottom of the matter. "Were you spying on us?"

"No!" Allan was aghast, and shook his head vigorously. Djaq did her best to stifle her laughter, finding it both ironic and amusing that Allan's gift for words seemed to desert him when he needed it the most.

"I wanted to tell Will something, but he'd already left before I could. So I followed him."

"Not everywhere, mind you!" Allan added hastily. "I lost him somewhere around here. I swear I—"

Will cut him off. "So what did you need to find me for?"

"Yeah." Allan's composure came back, and with it, his usual clever grin as well. He took a piece of wrinkled parchment out of his pocket and waved it in their direction. "I figured out where Gisborne is."

Will's face lit up immediately, as he grabbed the parchment from Allan. "Really? How did you—"

Allan spoke excitedly, drowning out the rest of Will's words. "Remember we talked about how 'burden of the Son' must mean a cross?"

"Well, we just need to find a place with a cross, yeah?"

Will nodded with enthusiasm, keeping his eyes trained on the parchment.

Djaq snorted. "Every town and village in England has a cross."

Allan clucked his tongue in annoyance, and Will frowned at her, surprised by her failure to understand.

"Not a place with a cross in it," Allan pointed out. "A place _name_ with a cross in it."

Will narrowed his eyes, and Djaq thought she could see the wheels in his brain turn over as he tried to solve the puzzle. But he said nothing, prompting Allan to finish.

Allan, still excited by his discovery, went on. "So the rest says 'wall of weight' or something, right?" He looked pointedly at Will, practically daring him to figure it out.

Will shook his head. "But that doesn't make any sense because—"

He stopped short, and looked up from the parchment in shock. "It's Hartshead. He's in Hartshead."

Allan nodded, and then whooped loudly, slapping Will on the back. "We did it. Told you there wasn't anything we couldn't figure out, you and me."

Her brain, always rational, knew the message from Gisborne had been for her benefit, so she was troubled that Will and Allan had deciphered the message without her. But more than that, it hurt her to know the two had put their heads together and left her completely out. She swallowed her pride and her hurt and joined in Allan's laughter.

"That was very clever, Allan. Tell me how you did it."

Allan stood a little taller, obviously pleased with himself. "Well, see 'wall of weight' was the easy bit. There's "wall" and there's something about weights. So I started to think of stuff, and it came to me. 'Wall' and 'ton', yeah?"

He took the parchment back from Will. "There's a thing called Walton's Cross near Kirklees, but the rest of the picture didn't make any sense. And then it hit me.

"You know what Walton's Cross is. The waystone, yeah?"

"The what?"

Will chuckled. "It's a stone that marks off miles. Like on a road."

Djaq nodded, finally understanding. "But how did you get Hartshead from _that_?"

"Ah, that was easy. See this bit?" He pointed at the squiggled drawing of the stag on the parchment. "That's a deer's head. Or a hart's head."

"Yeah, and Walton's Cross is a waystone in Hartshead." Allan put the pieces together for her with finality. "It's famous. Made by the Vikings, thousands of years ago."

"Hundreds of years ago," Will corrected him.

Allan demurred. "Fine. Hundreds of years ago. But the point is, it's famous, innit?"

Djaq's amusement began to overtake her disappointment. "Well, you two are very clever. Where in the village is Gisborne then?"

"That's easy," Will and Allan chimed in unison. "He's in the churchyard." Will pointed to the drawing of bones and the house on the parchment. "That's how you always draw a churchyard."

"Is that so?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and Will reddened, embarrassed at her mockery.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's alright, Will."

She watched as the two men spoke together, in soft tones she could not quite discern, about their new adventure. _And just like that, I'm forgotten._ The thought made her morose and angry, but she bit the feelings down and made herself a promise. She would find Gisborne, discover his game, and somehow use him to mend the problems of Robin and his men.

-00-

They arrived in Hartshead, drenched and miserable. Will pointedly avoided looking at Allan, feeling more than a little guilty for having dragged him to the middle of a sodden moor well past the time they should have been back at Torloton. They were nearly to Walton's Cross now, the waystone visible even in the waning light, and Will was hoping Gisborne would simply show up and answer for himself.

It had been his idea to come here right away, and although Allan had protested loudly, he'd ultimately given in and agreed to join Will. It had taken them nearly the entire afternoon to make the journey, and the wet weather had not helped. To make it worse, Will had made it a point not to share his plans with Djaq, and guilt over keeping her in the dark pricked at him. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Leaving her, even for just a few days, was wrenching enough without having to argue with her over his plans first.

Water sheeted off the hood of Allan's cloak as they reached the waystone, boots squelching in the mud. In the distance, well beyond the churchyard, was a dimly lit house, the only sign of life they'd seen in the village so far.

Allan's breath came out in puffs as he cursed softly. He glared at Will and for a few minutes, Will was equal to the challenge. But eventually, he conceded Allan's anger was justified and looked away.

"Since when do you care about Gisborne so much anyway?"

Will shrugged. "Since always. I've never liked him, always suspected he was up to no good."

"But why now? You haven't thought about him in months, I bet."

Will shook his head. "But I need to know. What his game is, what he's on about."

"For Djaq." Allan did not phrase it as a question, so Will did not bother with a response. It was enough that Allan understood what was at stake.

Still, it was a gamble. There was no guarantee Gisborne would even know they were here, and even less of a chance he was waiting for them. As the rain began to seep into his skin from his clothes, Will began to doubt the wisdom of his plans to intercept Gisborne. He cast a surreptitious glance at Allan and decided to weather whatever insults Allan might hurl in his direction.

"What if he's not here? In Hartshead?"

Allan gave him a curious look. "Of course he's here. We figured out the message, didn't we?"

Will pressed on. "Yeah, but what if it's a trick? He sends us this message to lure us into a trap or something.

"Maybe he still works for the Sheriff!" Will tried to keep the note of panic out of his voice, but already, he could feel dread spreading through his heart.

Allan scratched his chin and looked thoughtful. "That does sound like something the Sheriff would do. But Gisborne? No, his mind doesn't work like that.

"And," Allan added, with some hesitation, "Gisborne doesn't lie."

Will scoffed. "What?"

"I mean, Gisborne is a lot of things, most of 'em bad," Allan continued, "but he's not a liar.

"Or at least he never lied to _me_. Never told the whole truth either, mind, but he never lied."

Will frowned at Allan through the pouring rain. "Isn't not telling the truth the same as lying?"

Allan chuckled softly. "No, but I can see why you might think they were." He gave Will a crooked grin. "Surprised Djaq didn't set you straight about that."

Will didn't answer, embarrassed at letting Allan have the upper hand in the discussion, and uncomfortable with the insinuation that Djaq understood truth and lies the way Allan did. He let the space between them fill up with silence, and after a few minutes, Allan tired of it and began to walk away.

"Let's go into the village. At least we'll be dry."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. As they neared the small building, they realized it was actually a brewhouse, and most of the village had been driven indoors by the rain.

Allan guffawed and clapped Will on the shoulder. "Perfect! I could use a drink right about now."

Will let Allan lead him into the brewhouse, a tiny, wooden house packed with punters. The brewster looked harried as she brought them their ale and pies, but when Will paid for them, she gave him a curious look and pushed the coins back in his direction.

"Your money's no good here. You're expected." She gestured to the corner, where a hooded figure sat in the shadows. Will shivered. So Gisborne had been lying in wait at the brewhouse all this time.

At the brewster's signal, the man rose and made his way to where Allan and Will were sitting, but as he approached, Will could see it wasn't Gisborne at all. The man was tonsured as a monk would have been, but he was not in a monk's habit or wearing a cross. He seemed familiar, but Will could not quite place him.

The man smiled cryptically and sat down at the table, Will eyeing him with curiosity.

"We meet again, Master Scarlett."

Will stammered out a few words. "I know you, don't I?"

The man chuckled. "I don't think 'know' is the right word. But we've met before. On the eve of your marriage, if I'm not mistaken."

The pieces fell into place for Will, as he remembered his last visit to the king's camp outside Acre, hoping to get permission to marry Djaq properly. But he'd been turned away empty-handed, and forced to walk off with only bitter regret to show for his effort.

"Brother Tuck. I remember now."

Tuck smiled sadly at Will. "Just 'Tuck' will do fine. I'm no longer a part of my order."

Allan laughed. "They threw you out, did they? Spending too much time in taverns like this will do that to ya."

Will kneed Allan under the table, eliciting a small groan and a withering look. "What are you doing here? I mean, in England."

Tuck took a long time to answer. "That's a long story. Perhaps another time?

"I think you are here for a different reason today anyhow. Am I right?"

Will said nothing, watching as Allan narrowed his eyes at the monk. "Maybe. But what's it to you?"

Tuck held out his hands in a gesture of conciliation. "I'm only a messenger, if you will. For Sir Guy of Gisborne."

Will exchanged a quick glance with Allan and dropped his voice to a whisper. "So where is he?"

"Ah." Tuck hesitated and pretended to be very interested in the surface of the table. "He is where he needs to be. Which is away from prying eyes.

"The entire shire believes he's dead, and Sir Guy thinks it's better that way."

Silence fell over the men as each contemplated what Tuck's words really meant. Allan was clearly suspicious, and although Will was inclined to trust Tuck, he was unsure where the entire conversation was leading.

Allan cleared his throat. "So fine. Giz is alive, he doesn't want to be seen. What does he want with us?"

Tuck gave both men a frank appraisal before he answered, his speech slow and measured. "I do not know Sir Guy's whole story, what passed before we first met."

Allan scoffed. "Well, I could tell you—"

"I have heard the same rumors as you have, of course. And perhaps they are not even rumors." Tuck turned up his empty hands on the table, in the time-honored tradition of honest men with no wagers up their sleeves.

"When I first met Sir Guy, he was near death. Indeed, someone must have thought him dead, for he'd been wounded and abandoned to the desert."

Will gasped and was about to speak before Allan jabbed him sharply in the ribs, demanding silence.

"We-my fellow monks and I-we took him back to our chapter house, thinking we would at least give him a proper Christian burial."

"But Sir Guy did not die. He was healed, and he spent his days in prayer."

Tuck looked away and scratched his head, deep in thought. "I cannot say for certain, but I think he came to believe God had saved him. For some higher purpose."

Allan rolled his eyes, but Will was surprised by this. He had never thought of Gisborne as a particularly pious man, but maybe being brought back to life from the brink of death could change a man. That, at least, was something Will could relate to. _When you've lived and died and lived again, you can't ever go back to what you were. _

That thought disturbed him, and reminded him once again of all he had lost and left behind. And yet, there was a sort of comfort in knowing that even a man like Gisborne could be changed by his circumstance. Then again, Gisborne was not just any man. He was cruel and vindictive. He'd killed people...he'd killed Marian! How much would a man like that have to change anyway? Will's thoughts chased themselves in circles until he could not keep them straight anymore.

Abruptly, Allan downed the rest of his ale and set the tankard down with just a bit too much force, startling both Will and Tuck. "So where is he then? Or is he just letting you do his work for him?"

Tuck bristled, but kept himself in check. He nodded politely in their direction. "I will go out the front. Wait a few minutes and then follow. I'll see you in the meadow behind the church."

He raised the hood of his robes, obscuring his face. "Sir Guy will be there. I promise."

-00-

Allan shuffled his feet, making as much noise as possible as he and Will left the alehouse.

"You think this is a good idea?"

Will shrugged. "I don't know."

"I mean, it's Gisborne. He's dangerous. He could—"

"Look, what choice do I have? I know Djaq will try to find him herself, and I just want to make sure she'll be alright!" Will shoved Allan away in frustration. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"What? And leave you to yourself?" Allan guffawed. "I might be alright with that, mind, but Djaq would never forgive me."

Will chuckled, although he was mildly annoyed by the insinuation that Djaq had set Allan the task of looking after him. _What am I, a child?_ He felt all the old bitterness and resentment of Allan return with full force, and he tried to push it down.

"Besides, you said it yourself. Gisborne doesn't lie. What have we got to be afraid of?"

Allan nodded, not convinced but at least conceding the argument for the time. In the distance, they could see another shadowy figure line up next to Tuck. Gisborne.

Will's pace quickened and Allan bounded up beside him, hand already loosely palming the haft of his sword.

"Be ready for anything," Allan whispered. "He will be."

Will nodded and pulled the hatchet out of his toolbelt, readying himself. Gisborne already had his sword out, the blade glinting eerily through the drizzle.

Tuck motioned them over, and Allan was nearly to Gisborne's side when Will pulled him back abruptly. "Look out! Horse!"

Allan turned north, only to find horse and rider bearing down on him as they hurtled through the meadow.

Gisborne cried out and his sword clattered to the ground as he staggered back onto Tuck. Will watched in shock as the rider galloped past them.

It was the Nightwatchman.

-00-


	28. Chapter 28: Faith

**Faith**

_Hartshead_

Will watched in shock as the Nightwatchman streaked across the muddy road and off into the forest. Behind him, he heard the first whispers of shock from Gisborne and Brother Tuck, and next to him, Allan was mumbling the _pater noster_ and crossing himself repeatedly. Will resisted the urge to hit him, certain that at least half of Allan's superstitious fear was invented.

Gisborne, though, was a different matter. The blood had run out of his face, and he was holding on to Tuck as if he could not stand on his own. In the back of his mind, Will knew Gisborne's reaction was predictable, even fair, for a man in his situation. But all he could think was that Gisborne had sent Marian to her grave, and he had no right—absolutely none, to be shocked or frightened by her reappearance.

He hissed in irritation, and spat words in Gisborne's direction. "Stop it! It's not who you think it is. That's not Marian!"

Gisborne's mouth worked, but no sound came as he breathed heavily and tried to regain his composure. Will looked away in disgust and prepared to walk off, but a gentle word from Tuck brought him back.

"How can you be so certain?"

"What?"

"How can you be so sure Sir Guy is wrong? Sometimes we only hear that someone has passed on."

Will scoffed. "Yes. Just like everyone heard he was dead, eh? Well, he's not getting off so easily on this one. Those rumors you've heard weren't just rumors, you know.

"I saw him kill Marian. We all did." He turned to Allan for confirmation, but Allan was too busy considering the ground and did not respond.

He turned his attention back to Gisborne. "You murdered a woman in cold blood. You don't get to be scared. You don't get to have people feel sorry for you. Don't you get it?"

This seemed to jolt Gisborne out of his frightened state. "I get it. And _you_ get to be so righteous, because, of course, you've never killed anyone before?" He managed a smirk, but in his still-nervous state, it came off as a sneer, and Will recoiled mentally.

"What do you want with us anyway, Gisborne?"

"The Saracen…where is she?"

Will bristled. "She has a name, you know. And it's not your business where she is!"

Gisborne smirked, as if to suggest Will being protective of Djaq was sweet but a bit tiresome. "I have nothing to say to you. Whatever I want to say, I'll say to her, or not at all."

"Not at all, then. It doesn't matter a lick to me whether you get your say or not, Gisborne. I just want to know what game you're playing."

Tuck looked uncomfortable, and stepped in to the breach as Gisborne and Will took turns glaring at each other in the wet darkness. "It's not a game, Master Scarlett. He has…information. News that you, and more importantly, Robin Hood, might find useful."

Will frowned. He knew Gisborne had things to share, but he'd expected it to be an apology or an explanation for all his conduct, not information. Was Gisborne some sort of spy now? What if this was all an elaborate ruse, a way to lure Robin and the other outlaws into a trap?

"If you have something to say to Robin, why don't you say it yourself? Spare us all this nonsense."

"Is Robin of Locksley inclined to listen to Sir Guy?"

Will thought he detected mockery in Tuck's voice, but the man's face was impassive. In response to Tuck's question, Will had to admit he had no idea how Robin would react, but he was almost certain Gisborne would not get a fair hearing, at least not at first. He shook his head, and caught an almost imperceptible smile on Tuck's face.

"You see the difficulty then."

Will nodded. "Fine then. Tell me, and I'll pass the information to Robin."

"No!" Gisborne's voice rang out in the darkness, edged with vehemence. "I don't trust you."

Will laughed. "_You_? Don't trust _me_? Well, that's new."

Gisborne crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Will carefully. "I don't trust you, because you don't trust me."

Will glared back at him, aping Gisborne's defiant stance. "I have reason not to trust you. It's because of you that my mother is dead. Because of you that I'm even an outlaw, when I should be with my brother! Should've been with my father when he…" Will's voice trailed off as he felt the words stick in his throat.

Gisborne backed away a little, his face going pale again. He sighed and dropped his arms, splaying his hands out in front of him in a gesture of concession. "I have done many things in my life, many of them terrible, unforgivable.

"But I don't ask for your forgiveness. I know from where my judgment will come, and it is for God, in His mercy, to forgive my many sins.

"Have the Saracen come and see me. I'll talk to her."

"No." Will tried to keep his voice even, but the ball of worry forever in the pit of his stomach began to uncoil, making it hard for him to focus on thwarting Gisborne. "She doesn't trust you either."

Gisborne smirked. "Maybe. But she'll listen. And that's all I really want."

"You're right. I don't trust you. I don't want you anywhere near her."

Gisborne seemed about to answer, but he was quickly interrupted by Allan. "Listen, Giz, maybe you can tell me." He chuckled nervously. "We go way back, yeah? Like old times!"

Gisborne spat in Allan's direction. "No! Not you. You betrayed Hood, and then you betrayed me. Nobody trusts you, not now, not ever."

Will felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Allan. Despite everything Allan had done, he did not deserve to be condemned by the likes of Gisborne.

"I trust him."

Allan gaped at Will, clearly surprised, but the smirk stayed on Gisborne's face.

"Really? You trust this man? Allan-a-Dale?" He guffawed loudly. "With your life?"

"Yes."

"With your woman?"

This time, Will hesitated for a moment. "Yes, of course," he answered, but it was too late. The tiny kernel of doubt had cost him, and Gisborne had noted the lapse.

"More fool you then." Gisborne came closer, close enough to whisper, and out of Allan's earshot.

"If you trust him, really trust him, then fine. Send your woman to me, and have Allan come along. He'll watch out for her, and I'll make sure to watch out for him."

Will backed away, disliking the insinuation and the proposition. He shook his head, not wanting to give in. And yet, he knew Djaq would find her way to Gisborne somehow, and Allan was better than no protection at all.

Gisborne spat on his hand and held it out for Will to shake, but Will could not bring himself to touch the man, so he simply nodded, once and curtly.

"Have her come and see me. Here, if weather allows. Or in the tavern." Gisborne turned his attention to Allan. "Let's see if there's anyone you won't sell out in the end."

_Newstead_

She ran through golden, sun-drenched fields, giggling. Music played in the distance, a raucous blend of laughter and revelry. The desert spirit held her hand, flying with her in happiness. She heard his laughter, liquid, familiar and wondered that he no longer frightened her. But all of a sudden, he let her go, left her teetering on the edge of a sharp cliff. He hurtled over it, screaming, and in that moment, she could almost see his face…

Djaq startled awake, trying to snatch at the things she had seen in the dream, but they withered away. Fully awake now, she could no longer remember what she had dreamed, not exactly, but something terrible lingered, gnawing at her until she forced herself to wake up. The others, including Much and Little John were still asleep, but the priory itself was beginning to wake, and Djaq could hear faint sounds of the Latin hymns from the church.

She slipped on her boots and headed down to the small stream behind the priory. It was the only part of the day she had entirely to herself, and she used the time to wash, pray and just think. Usually, her thoughts would run to simple things, the day's tasks, new lessons from the monks at the priory, Will. But today, her mind was awhirl. For one, there was the business with Gisborne. It still rankled in a way that Will and Allan had figured out the riddle before she had. But in her rational mind, she knew this was no great surprise. After all, the riddle was full of clues that were only meaningful to those who knew the area, and she was at a decided disadvantage on that score. But the fact that they'd put their heads together and solved a problem without so much as a word to her troubled Djaq more than she'd expected.

For another, the dreams had come back. She thought she'd been freed of the troubling visions after she'd come to Newstead and she'd slept peacefully for the first few nights. But now they were back, and they were increasingly harder to understand. The desert spirit seemed a force of good, a source of protection, and yet, she was often left alone to fend off more terrible creatures in the dreams, and she had no idea what to make of any of these visions. Even as a child, she'd had vivid dreams, but they'd never been anything portentous. These dreams seemed to be a message, but one she could not decipher, for all her cleverness.

Djaq sighed. There was no sense in worrying about things she could not understand. But the Gisborne problem at least had a solution. She knew where he would be, and she would have to go find him. Despite not having solved the riddle, she was convinced the message was intended for her and not for Will and Allan. Tomorrow, she would set out to find Gisborne. If she made an early enough start, she could be to Hartshead and back by the end of the day. The only thing left in her mind was Will, and whether she should let him know of her plans. Her first impulse was to keep it to herself, if only to keep Will from worrying about her. But on reflection, she decided she could not leave him in the dark, not when there was even the slightest chance of danger. She'd tell him when they met at the old camp.

There were other things to tell Will as well. She put a hand over the now-obvious swelling of her belly. It was still small enough that she could cover it up with her clothing, particularly as the clothes she had worn back from Acre were made for a man and hung loosely off her body anyway. But there were women at the camp in Newstead as well, village women who would probably guess at her condition soon enough.

She had no idea why she was still keeping the babe a secret from the world. She was not ashamed of it. Indeed, it was exactly the opposite. Her thoughts of the child were always of joy and pride, and she longed to know what the child would look like, whether it would have her bronzed complexion, or perhaps Will's startling green eyes. But she was still not keen on sharing the child with the world. Part of it was concern the others would pamper and coddle her, getting in the way of the work they were all trying to do. The other part though was something darker, more primal. As long as the child was in her womb, it belonged only to her, the only thing in the world that was truly hers. She was not quite ready to share the child with everyone, except Will, and that was out of necessity. It was not as if she could have kept her condition hidden from a man she lay with anyway! The silliness of the thought amused Djaq and she was practically laughing by the time she made it back to the priory.

The camp was slowly coming to life. Much had begun preparation of the day's first meal, with the help of one of the women at camp. The woman, whose name Djaq could not quite remember, was older and looked rather careworn, but she was a good cook. More importantly, she knew exactly how to deal with Much. They were making porridge of some sort, and though it hardly looked appetizing, Djaq's mouth began to water. She was ravenously hungry all the time and had taken to getting extra helpings at mealtime and hiding some of her food away so she could eat later, out of the sight of the others. She took her place in the long line of people waiting for food. Many of Robin's men in Newstead were ordinary villagers, people who had left their homes and taken to the forest because they could not pay their taxes, or because they'd fallen afoul of the law in other ways. In this, they were hardly different from Robin's original men. But these men had brought their families with them, wives, young children, even grown children, and the camp was beginning to feel like a small village in its own right. They were safe here, not just from the long arm of the unjust law, but also from the privation and hunger that Robin's men had faced when they first became outlaws—still faced at his other camps. The priory shielded the camp, not just from prying eyes, but from the Sheriff, who for all his power could not touch the Church in any way. _Clever Robin._

The line nudged forward, and when it was Djaq's turn, Much clucked his tongue. "Can you believe this? Lining up for food! It's madness," he added, as he carefully spooned the porridge into Djaq's bowl. She tried not to question how little there was of it, considering how many more people still needed to be fed. But she did need to eat more, or spend the rest of the day famished. She could put up with the privation, but the child deserved better, surely. The woman standing next to Much snatched Djaq's bowl out of her hand and filled it to the rim.

"You'll need to be eating better," she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I'm called Alice, by the way." She pointed at a large man and a tall girl at the back of the barn. "That's me husband and our daughter."

Djaq nodded in gratitude. "Thank you." She began to eat and then pulled the woman aside. "I appreciate that you know of my…condition. I would also appreciate if you could keep it to yourself. For just a while longer."

Alice shrugged. "Aye. But it's not the sort of thing you can hide forever, mind."

"How did you know?"

Alice laughed. "I have eyes and I watch people."

Djaq smiled. "Of course," she answered cheerfully. But inwardly, she quailed. If all it took was a bit of observation to notice her condition, then she was not doing a very good job of hiding it. She'd have to figure out a different plan. Maybe Matilda would have ideas…

She set herself to coming up with a solution, but Alice's voice cut into her thoughts. "Where will you go?"

"What?"

"When it's your time. Where will you go to have the babe?"

Djag goggled at her. "Why can't I have it here?"

The woman looked shocked. "Birthing a babe? In the forest? What nonsense!"

"It's been done before, you know," Djaq said, with some disdain.

"Yes, but not by people with any sense." The woman scoffed and turned her attention back to the porridge and the other outlaws, leaving Djaq alone with her thoughts. She ate the simple but ample porridge quickly, ignoring its blandness as her mind wrestled with the woman's question. She'd had these same concerns before, of course, not least because Matilda often said the forest was no place for a babe either. But where was she supposed to go? It was not as if there were places in England just waiting to welcome a pregnant Saracen! The forest would have to be birthplace enough. Djaq began to wonder if there was a place in the priory that might be suitable as a birthing room, a place with a stone floor that could easily be scrubbed clean, a place with a door so it would be private. She'd have to ask one of the monks about it, but without letting on the room was for her own needs.

With this new idea in mind and with something useful to do with her day, Djaq set off to the priory close, a new spring in her step.

—

_Torloton_

Will eyed Allan suspiciously as they made their way back to the caves at Torloton. Allan had been quiet most of the trip, looking frightened and skittish. Will might have believed his reaction if it had not been so overwrought. But Allan had overdone his initial shock and fear, and left Will thinking that he either knew something that Will did not, or that he was in on the ruse with the new Nightwatchman, whoever that turned out to be.

Allan was avoiding his eyes and biting his lip, both gestures pushing Will past irritation and well into anger. He picked up a small pebble and hurled it at a spot well above Allan's head. It struck a tree and the noise got Allan's attention. He raised an eyebrow at Will, the scared expression still on his face.

Will hissed. "Stop it, just stop it. You don't have to pretend."

"What are you on about?"

Will glared at him. "You know, don't you? Who that was, playing at being the Nightwatchman?"

Allan was nonplussed. "No, of course not. What makes you think I'd have anything to do with something like that?"

_Because you would, Allan_. He'd picked up another rock to pitch at Allan, but in his frustration, he flung it into the woods instead. As hard as he was trying, he could not make sense of anything that had happened. And he missed Djaq, he missed her so much. She would have known what to make of the day's events, in her quiet and reasonable way, and she would have set him straight. He tried to think as Djaq would. She would have counseled patience, she would have told him to wait and see where the pieces of the puzzle fell. Will took a deep breath, and set aside his annoyance in favor of patience. Soon enough, Allan would fess up or he'd figure out the mystery of the fake Nightwatchman on his own.

His only quandary was whether this was news he should pass on to Robin. It was the sort of thing Robin would want to know, but also, since it involved the Nightwatchman, Robin _deserved_ to know. If someone was impersonating Marian, it would be personal to Robin. But the thought of Robin put Will on edge. He still hadn't quite forgiven Robin for his words of the other day, and for separating him from Djaq, whatever his reasons. Still, that was not a good enough reason to keep a secret as big as this one from Robin.

"So we should probably tell Robin…"

"What?" Whatever mask Allan was wearing slipped away completely. This time, his surprise was real, and Will thought he spied a tiny edge of guilt.

"If someone's pretending to be the Nightwatchman, to be Marian, he ought to know, yeah?"

Allan sighed. "Yeah, about that."

Will watched as Allan pressed his fingers to his forehead. "There are a lot of things that Robin doesn't know, doesn't need to know. He's got bigger things to worry about. Why don't we just leave him in peace?"

Will nodded, conceding the point while trying to read between the lines. _What things does Robin not need to know? What are you hiding, Allan?_

It was midday by the time they reached the caves, and the men were returning from deliveries and patrols of the northern edge of the forest, something they'd started doing now that the gang was so much bigger and spread out over a much larger part of the forest. Will allowed this was a very good idea, but the ordered and military nature of it worried him. They were never meant to be Robin's personal army, after all.

Will felt a sudden and sharp ache, a vast sadness for everyone who'd been drawn into battle against the Sheriff and Prince John, ordinary men who had already lost their livelihoods and might even lose their lives. What was the point of it all? Why did men struggle so long and hard for so little return in the end? Why was he an outlaw?

The simple answer was that he'd escaped the noose and there was nowhere else to go. But the simple answer was also wrong. After all, he could have run north to Scarborough, as Luke had. He could have disappeared somewhere, the way Benedict Giddens had. Indeed, his first instinct had been to take the two lads and run off to another shire, escaping punishment altogether. But he'd been worried that his father couldn't care for himself, that he'd be sacrificing Luke's happiness along with his own. And in the end, it had been the right thing to do. Because that's what men did, real men. They took care of their families the best they could, for as long as they could.

And sometimes that meant taking up arms and fighting, like Robin was doing. But sometimes it also meant backing down because you couldn't risk the lives of the people you loved. It's what his father had done, what Will would do, in the face of a threat to his family.

_I don't want to be an outlaw anymore. _

—

_Newstead_

Djaq pouted and put her hands on her hips in defiance. She'd spent the last hour trying to convince the priory cellarer of the importance of a sanitary and private location, but he was not having any of it.

"But Mistress Djaq, we already have the infirmary." The old monk shook his head in confusion. "I just fail to see why we need a second area that serves exactly the same purpose. The priory's monies are—"

"It will not cost the priory anything. It would be just space that is not being used right now. Something with a door and a stone floor would be more than enough."

The monk smiled in the indulgent way that parents sometimes smiled at the silliness of their children. "It's not a question of cost. It's a question of need." He had the grace to look a bit regretful over the whole thing. "I'm afraid I'd never be able to explain why we needed a second infirmary."

Djaq sighed in frustration. She cast about for ways to convince the cellarer without giving away her real reason. After some panicked reflection, it came to her, the perfect plan.

"What about a woman who is with child and nearing her time? She cannot give birth in the infirmary, in front of so many others, surely!" Djaq added a note of disbelief to her voice, pushing home the unsuitability of such a suggestion.

The monk seemed surprised, but only for a moment. He recovered quickly, impressing Djaq with the quickness of his mind. "Women in England give birth in their homes, mistress."

"But you know there are women who cannot do this, for whatever reason. Should they not have a place to go, a place of safety from—?"

"Such women would never be admitted into the priory anyhow, mistress. So the point is moot, I'm afraid." The cellarer rose to leave, thinking he was putting an end to the conversation.

Djaq decided to play her trump card. "Yes. Such women end up having to take shelter in mangers with kindly innkeepers."

He gaped at her, fully aware of how she'd played him and how he was now stuck in a corner with little recourse. "You cannot compare every fallen woman in Nottinghamshire with the Virgin herself."

Djaq tried to look contrite. "You are right, of course. Far be it for me to take the name of your Lady in vain." She waited until he was sufficiently mollified, and continued. "Nobody ever claims to be her, of course. But there are many women in this world who, for whatever reason, cannot return to their homes to birth their babies. We should be able to at least find them a manger, after all."

The monk looked very skeptical, but at length, he gave in, nodding curtly at Djaq. "I will put the matter to the prior, but I give you no guarantees."

Djaq smiled cheerfully at him. "Thank you. That is more than I expected."

After the monk took his leave, Djaq went out into the churchyard, picking up a stick so she could scribble ideas in the dirt. After only a few moments, she realized she did not have Will's drawing skills. He had an uncanny ability to see actual spaces in his mind, the way a place would look after the walls were built, the way the corners would meet, what the roof would look like. But try as much as she wanted, Djaq could not quite picture any of that. So she drew her images in words instead, writing quickly and in Arabic. A small space would be sufficient, of course, as long as it had a good door and at least one window to flush out the bad humors and let in fresh air. A stone floor was a must, of course.

In Acre, even modest houses had stone floors, the cool rock sometimes the only respite from the heat of the desert. But here in England, outside of the priory church and the castle in Nottingham, she'd seen few buildings of stone. Djaq was often appalled by the condition of English homes, with their mud floors barely covered with rushes that were not refreshed for days, sometimes weeks. But she understood too that England was cold and damp for much of the year, and poor villagers could not afford the tapestries and rugs that kept out the cold in the stone houses of the rich. If she could not find a place with a proper floor, she'd have to at least make sure the rushes were changed once a day, especially after a woman had given birth. There would be blood and soil and other leavings, and if the place was not cleaned, the risk of infection would be too high for any other woman who wanted to use the room.

She realized she had no knowledge of the things women cared about the most. She'd only ever witnessed one birth in her entire life. That one had been in the forest, with only the other outlaws for guidance, and Djaq had no idea if they knew the proper way of things. She'd always suspected that Matilda's grandchild had been brought safely into the world only by chance—or perhaps by the grace of the Christian God—but certainly not by her own skill or by John's words. She worried that a similar grace would not visit the birth of her own child, so all other arrangements had to be perfect.

There would have to be a bed, of course, with perhaps a screen to shield the birthing woman from curious eyes. Djaq frowned. How did women give birth? Were they lying down and restrained like invalids, or did they just squat somewhere and let nature take its course? Was there some sort of contraption involved? Perhaps Will would have a better idea, and if not, they could certainly come up with some sort of solution together. That thought brought with it welcome relief. Djaq smiled, reassured there was no problem in the world the two of them could not solve when they put their heads together. Together…

—

_Torloton _

The ruffians fell on them at dawn, the attack so sudden the outlaws barely had a chance to wake before they were fighting for their lives. Fortunately, Will had been the lone sentry, and long years of habit had kept him from falling asleep at his post. He'd been turned away from the mouth of the cave, his mind wandering, when he'd seen men, just shadows in the creeping grayness of the dawn. They had leaped out of the trees and straight at him, and he'd barely had time to duck and yell before grabbing his axe and flailing blindly at his attackers. Allan, Brother David, and the others had rallied around him in just moments, and they'd fought a fierce and pitched battle. To Will, the time seemed to stretch out for hours, even though the entire ambush lasted less than a few minutes. It took the best of whatever the outlaws had, but the ruffians were beaten back. They ran off into the woods and the outlaws gave chase, but Allan called them back. "Not worth it, lads. Let 'em go."

Will leaned on his axe handle, panting breathlessly. Around him, the men tried to catch their breath, one man dabbing futilely at an angry sword gash on his arm. Will nodded in his direction, and the man—barely more than a boy answered. "Matthew."

Will nodded. "Matthew, it's going to get infected if you keep touching it. Just clean it off in the river, and I'll bandage it for you."

The boy looked doubtful. "You a doctor or something?"

Will laughed. "No, but I know one. Learned a lot."

Matthew seemed mollified by that. "Fine. But don't stick me with needles or stitches or nothing. I don't like that."

Will nodded solemnly, silently glad he knew nothing about sewing wounds and would have no trouble keeping that promise. "Where do you lot keep the bandages?"

The boy shrugged. "Don't know that we have any."

"What? You have to have bandages. It's—" He looked around helplessly until his eyes fell on the monk. "I need bandages."

Brother David nodded, quickly moving to the back of the caves and returning with a box of rags. "I don't know how clean they are, mind you. But that's as close as we get."

A thought came to Will. "This has happened before?"

David shrugged. "Every now and then. We're not the only people in the forest after all."

"But them lot, they're not like us," Matthew added. "They're just thieves. Cutpurses. Bad sort."

Allan joined them, looking tired and worried. "They're just after money. Maybe food. Winter's coming, and life in the forest's hard."

Matthew shook his head. "We could've taken them down. If you hadn't stopped us."

"Yeah, well. You're not in charge here, are you? When it's your turn to make the decisions, you do want you want. Alright?"

The lad, looking properly chastised, loped off to a dark corner of the cave, obviously sulking. Allan seemed to relish his victory, and Will was left feeling both amused and sort of impressed at how well Allan was taking to the role of leader. _We've been wrong about him…_

Allan frowned at him. "You're hurt," he said, pointing to Will's tunic. A bit of blood stained the front, but when Will lifted up his shirt to check, there was no sign of any hurt. He shrugged, deciding it was probably from Matthew's wound and dropped his shirt back down, but not before he saw Allan's shocked expression. _The scar…_

Will sighed and began to explain, but Allan cut him off. "Djaq told me. About what happened. That you nearly died."

Will shook his head, not wanting to explain, not wanting to relive what he'd experienced. He did not really want Allan's sympathy anyway. "Listen, it's—"

"She thinks it's her fault."

"No!" Will was appalled. "No, of course not. It just happened. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Did Djaq really blame herself for everything that had happened in Acre? Is that why she'd wanted to leave the place? How had he not realized all this before? _Poor Djaq…_

Allan glared at him, a mixture of anger and sadness on his face. "I know you'd never let her think that. Right?"

Will nodded, confused by Allan's accusations, but also keenly aware that Allan was protecting Djaq. For that, at least, he'd always be grateful to Allan. _Maybe Gisborne had the right idea…_

"Listen, Allan, I need you to do something for me, something important…"

—

_Newstead_

Djaq finished her meal quietly, and when she was certain nobody was watching, she slipped out the back door of the shed. Much, at least, had been none the wiser, and as she took the path to the priory close, Little John waved at her, an indulgent smile on his face. He was amused by the idea that Djaq often left the camp to visit Will, and she allowed that his assumption was usually right. But this time, her mission was of a far more secretive and less pleasant nature. She had spent days trying to figure out how to get to Hartshead to see Gisborne. The town was not far from Newstead, but she had no idea how to find Gisborne once she was there, and she doubted Will did either. She had gone back-and-forth on whether to tell Will her plans, but despite believing he deserved to know, she could not bring herself to come clean to Will. He would insist on coming with her, on trying to be a buffer between her and Gisborne. Will's hatred for the man would cloud his judgment, and in the process, the truth—whatever that was—would remain hidden. If Gisborne had something to say, she needed to be the one to hear it.

Two nights ago, the mystery had been solved for her. She'd been out collecting herbs when an arrow had nearly taken her head off. It had Gisborne's fletching, and as before, there was a message attached. But this time, there was no riddle. It was written in Latin, addressed her by name and told her where she could find Gisborne. It was as good as an invitation, and all that remained was to make the journey.

When she arrived in Hartshead, it was midday, the summer sun hanging bright and low in the sky. Though it was easier to travel by daylight, there were no shadows for Djaq to lurk in, and she knew just how exposed she was. At least in the forest, there were friends who would shelter her, places that could hide her. Here, out in the open, in the middle of an unfamiliar English village, Djaq was at sea and all alone. For a moment, she panicked, wishing to turn, wishing she'd thought better of her plan and brought Will with her. But she had faced worse perils and survived, and this was nothing, a mere rendezvous with a man whom she no longer thought dangerous. She took a deep breath, drew up the hood of her cloak and walked into the tavern.

To her surprise, the place was nearly full, with only a few empty spaces left. The brewhouse was not a grand place, just two large rooms with long wooden tables and benches arranged close together. It was dark, but reasonably clean, the rushes on the floor smelling as if they'd just been replaced. Behind the benches, in the rooms where the ale was brewed was the mistress of the place, a young-but-severe looking woman who caught her eye just as Djaq sat down. She nodded in Djaq's direction and returned a moment later with a tankard of ale, setting it down noisily in front of her.

Djaq shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't drink."

The woman shrugged. "That's no matter to me. I was asked to bring it to you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am paid whether you drink or not." She raised an eyebrow at Djaq and made a gesture in the direction of the corner, where two hooded figures sat. _Gisborne!_

Djaq nodded at the woman, comprehending. "I'm called Djaq."

"Eleanor. You can call me Nell, though you'll have no need to call me at all."

Djaq nodded, feeling a bit stupid about the whole thing. She pulled the tankard closer and sniffed at it. It was far stronger than the small beer she was sometimes forced to drink for lack of water at the camp. Her stomach threatened, and she pushed it away, only to have the man before her palm the tankard and laugh. To her surprise, it was not Gisborne.

She glared at him. "What are you doing here, Allan?"

"I should ask _you_." He waited a few minutes, an indulgent smile on his face, but when she said nothing, he squared his shoulders and dropped the pretense. "Listen. I know why you're here, and I'm not sure it's safe." He took a long swig of the ale, and muttered under his breath. "For either of us."

Djaq felt her anger rise, and she was in no mood to back down. A dark thought came to her, and the words were out of her mouth before she could think them over properly. "Did Will put you up to this?"

Allan looked panicked, and though the expression was fleeting, it was too late for him to take it back. "He didn't tell me to follow you or anything. Will would never—"

"I know." She sighed. "And I also know why Will would _want_ you to follow me too, even if he didn't _tell_ you to do it." She allowed herself a smile at this thought. "But I can take care of myself, Allan. I always have."

"It's not you Will is worried about." Allan dropped his already soft voice even lower. "I'm not sure what Giz is on about, and frankly, I think he may have gone off a bit. Maybe too much sun in the Holy Land or something."

Djaq stifled a giggle at Allan's way of casting the situation. "He seemed fully in possession of his sanity when I—Will and I—first met him."

"I don't know. Some people are mad all the time, and some are not, yeah? I'm just here to make sure he doesn't do anything crazy, that's all."

Djaq sighed, exasperated and worried that Allan's continued presence would keep Gisborne from showing himself. "Fine. Stay here, but hide yourself. If I need you, I will signal you."

"How?"

Djaq slapped her hand on the table. "I'll do this."

"But if you do that for some other reason, I'll—"

"Oh, alright. I'll drink ale! That should be an unmistakable sign." She shooed him away. "Now go!"

She waited as Allan headed to the back of the brewhouse, melting into the shadows as he spoke with the brewster. When she was certain he could no longer see, she rose and made her way to the corner, keeping a hand curled around the handle of her dagger just in case. Nervous anticipation coiled in her stomach as she neared. Gisborne's companion lowered his hood first, smiling genially at Djaq. She returned the gesture, noting that he was tonsured as the monks at Newstead priory were.

"Mistress Djaq?"

Djaq nodded, still wary enough to keep her silence.

"I'm called Tuck. Like you, I am recently returned from the Holy Land."

Djaq had let her guard down just a little at the gentle greeting, but it went right back up. "You are a Crusader?"

Tuck shook his head. "No, only a priest, though perhaps my motive to serve God is the same as those of the Knights Templar."

"If that is called service to God—"

She did not have a chance to finish the thought, as Gisborne slapped his tankard of ale down with a bit too much force, startling her. He glowered at her. "Perhaps we can save the theological debate for another time. There are more important matters to discuss, after all."

"Yes. On that score, I need to know something. How did you know…what you knew the last time we met?"

Gisborne knit his eyebrows together in confusion, but when comprehension dawned, he relaxed. "Ah, that."

"It is not knowledge that everyone has. Nor something I wish to share."

Gisborne chuckled. "It's not some horrible black art I have, if that's what worries you. Only a kinsman who fancied himself a bit of a healer. I just remembered something he taught me."

Tuck watched them in confusion, but Djaq did not want to elaborate and the priest had the grace not to ask any pointed questions. Djaq put on her most indifferent expression. "If I am here only to be mocked, I shall be on my way. There are better uses for my time, after all."

Tuck sighed. "Please. Stay a moment. We have something to say that may be of import to you. Er, to Robin of Locksley."

Djaq turned her attention to the monk. "Why do you not go to him then? He has no quarrel with you, and surely anything that comes from a man of God would carry much weight."

Tuck smiled in a sad way. "My calling is not to meddle in the affairs of kings, my lady. I concern myself with the saving of souls."

"_His_ soul?" Djaq said pointedly, but got only a shrug in response from Tuck.

"You think I'm beyond saving then?" Gisborne's question was not angry. Djaq detected an edge of bitterness in it, but also genuine curiosity, as if Djaq's opinion had a bearing on his redemption.

"It is not for me to say. That is in Allah's hands." She did not particularly like being Allah's instrument in this case, but if that was His plan, she could not thwart it either.

Gisborne regarded her carefully. "I don't know what my fate will be, and I know I'll pay for my sins somehow. But before my judgment comes, I would like to do my part in the world."

"By helping Robin?"

"No, by destroying the Sheriff." Gisborne took a long drink and wiped the back of his mouth with his sleeve, his eyes never leaving Djaq's. "Hood thinks restoring the king to the throne will end all the evil in this country. But it will not. Because of the Sheriff, because of the hundreds of men just like him."

"But when the king returns, they will be rooted out. This is Robin's plan—"

Gisborne laughed. "We come to it at last then. I need you to give Hood a message. But don't tell him you heard it from me. Just say you overheard talk about it in town.

"We have information…"

—

_Torloton_

Will ran a hand along the surface of the piece he'd sanded down. His skin caught on a rough bit at one end, and he cursed loudly, drawing the attention of one of Allan's men. Will smiled sheepishly and apologized. The other man shook his head, dismissing Will's concern and letting him return to the task at hand.

He had no idea what he was making, in truth. They'd chopped wood the previous day for the campfire, but some of it was too green to burn properly, and Will had culled the pieces he liked best. His first thought had been to make a toy for the baby. It seemed a fitting first gift from a carpenter to his own child. But the more he thought about it, the more the notion of fatherhood overwhelmed him. He had no idea whether he would be a good father, whether an outlaw could be any kind of father at all. For the second time in as many days, he cursed their wretched situation and wished that he'd never stepped off the dock onto that ship in Tyre. _Everything would be different there, better…_

His thoughts wandered as he whittled aimlessly. Soon, there was nothing left but a twig of sheared wood, and he threw it back down on to the ground in frustration. The sound of a throat clearing got his attention, and he looked up to find Matthew staring at him.

"What?"

Matthew smiled sheepishly and held out his bandaged arm. "Just wanted to thank you. For before."

Will shook his head. "You'd do the same for me, yeah? It's nothing."

"I'm a mason, you know. Or, my father was, anyway."

Will frowned, not sure why he was being given this information. Noting the look on his face, Matthew continued. "I heard you talking to the monk, about building something. Just wanted to let you know I could help with that."

Will brightened, excited at the possibility of having another skilled craftsman to work with. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking…" Matthew began to talk excitedly, drawing in the dirt with a stick, and Will followed along with enthusiasm, nodding as he understood. It was actually a very clever idea. Matthew thought he could cut notches into the cave walls to hang shelves and wooden planks for bunks from. All Will had to do was shape the wood so it would be narrow enough to support its own weight, and light enough that they could take it apart and carry it with them if they had to leave the caves and make camp elsewhere. Will laughed, wondering why he'd never thought of it himself.

"Maybe if you knew anything about stone…" Matthew teased, and the two of them spent the rest of the next hour talking their plans through. At length, Will began to tire, the exhaustion of the past few days catching up with. He stretched and yawned, and apologized to Matthew for cutting him off. "You know what? I'll wash up at the stream, and then we can start work, yeah?"

Matthew nodded and bounded off into the caves, more eager than even Will himself. Will laughed and headed off to the river, axe in hand. He didn't think he was in any particular danger, but he was not taking any chances, especially considering the melee the gang had been in before. The forest was calm, but it was also dangerous and it was best to be prepared. At the stream, Will stripped down and plunged in, the cool water rinsing off the grime of the forest and clearing his mind. He stepped out of the water and began to dry off when something moved in the woods beyond the stream. Instantly on guard, Will grabbed his axe and hastily pulled on his clothes. He backed away from the water and dropped into a shallow ravine just beyond its western edge. From this vantage point, he could see the woods reasonably well without risk of being seen himself.

Someone was moving through the woods quickly and stealthily. At first, Will could not quite make out the person in the darkness of the trees, but as his eyes adjusted, it became more obvious. It was Anne, the deaf girl, and she was dipping in and out of the shadows like a cat, making a great effort to not be seen. Curious and more than a little suspicious, Will followed, nearly as stealthy as Anne herself, the old patterns of the forest revealing themselves to him almost as if by magic.

He followed her for a long way, easily a few miles, before Anne stopped abruptly. She took her pack off her back and stashed it in the hollow of the tree, marking the bark with a red smear of berries, before taking off into the forest again. Will hesitated, not sure if he should follow or discover what she was hiding. The indecision cost Will and before he could make up the distance, Anne was gone, blending into the dark and too far in the distance for Will to give chase unseen. He gave up and took the only approach left to him. He made his way to the tree and stuck his hand inside the hollow, feeling around until he felt the soft fabric of Anne's pack. He opened it hastily, shaking the contents out on to the ground, a little worried he was prying into things that were none of his business. An old cape, a dagger, and a blunt eating knife slid out. Will sighed and gave the bag a last dejected shake, when something small dropped out and fell on to the cape.

It was the Nightwatchman's mask.

—

_Near the outlaws' old camp_

Allan dropped down into a copse of trees, looking around furtively before signaling Djaq to join him. She slid down to join him, surprising Allan with how careful she was being. It was almost as if she was afraid of breaking something. He wondered if she'd been in a scuffle recently, or whether she was hurt somehow. He frowned at her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

Allan shrugged, reluctant to voice his concern and get a scolding in return. "I don't know. Just curious."

"I'm a bit out of practice, I admit that. But that's no reason for you to worry." She smiled genially, and there was enough of her old bluster in the expression that Allan decided he was imagining things. She banked left, heading south, forcing Allan to reach out and pull her back.

"Where are you going? Old camp's this way." He pointed in the opposite direction. "Isn't that where you and Will usually…er, meet?"

"Yes, but we're not going there just now."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not time for that yet."

Allan pawed at the ground, uncomfortable at whatever Djaq had inadvertently suggested. "So where are you headed then?"

She pointed, and then hesitated, frowning. "I thought we'd find Robin."

"Robin? What for?"

"I need to tell him something. About Gisborne."

He panicked. "Listen, Djaq. Whatever you do, you can't tell Robin about Gisborne."

Djaq gave him a frank look. "Why not? You should know, you of all people, that nothing good comes of keeping secrets from Robin."

He glared at her, certain she'd chosen the wrong time to take note of his past failings. "That's not what I mean. If you tell him Gisborne's still alive, he'll go mad. Just think about it."

She met his eyes evenly and then gave a sad shake of her head. "No, Allan. We're going to be honest. I have something important I need to share with Robin, and he'll wonder how I know it. It's better to be truthful."

"Well, what would Will say? He wouldn't want you to tell Robin about Gisborne."

She guffawed. "It doesn't really matter just now what Will would say, because he is not here. More to the point, I don't think Will would tell me to lie."

"I think he'd tell you to say whatever you need to say to keep yourself safe. And the truth is not it, Djaq. Not this time."

"Enough. Tell me where Robin is, or I will try to find him myself."

Allan hesitated, keeping his eyes fixed on her, not quite ready to give up. But at length, he relented. Sighing heavily, he admitted, "I don't really know where Robin is. He moves around a lot."

She was incredulous. "What? How do you find him when you need him?"

Allan smirked. "We have signals."

"What sort of signals?" Djaq had her hands on her hips, and Allan thought she looked adorable, angry and vaguely suspicious. He had the sudden urge to simply run off with her, Will Scarlett be damned. But he had a notion she would not be too pleased with that, so he checked the urge and smiled instead.

"Oh, same signals we used before. We whistle." He laughed, remembering how frustrated Djaq had been at her own inability to whistle properly, and how Robin had changed the signals on her account. But with Will and Djaq gone, the whistles had been the easiest signals for Much, John and Allan, so they'd gone back to them. Of course, Robin couldn't hear the whistle if he wasn't nearby, but at least one of his men would be on scout somewhere, and surely they'd hear it.

With that in mind, he put his lips together and blew.

—

Will was exhausted by the time he made it to the old camp. Partly, it was because he had run nearly the entire way, fueled by his discovery and the need to share it with someone, but partly, his confusion and fear at having unearthed some dark secret had made him want to get away from that place as soon as possible. He slumped against a tree and tried to catch his breath, feeling ridiculous. He had no idea where he was, although he suspected he was somewhere near Locksley and the old camp. It was just as well, as he'd told Djaq to meet him here, and he didn't want to be late and keep her waiting.

He was about to head south in the direction of the camp when he heard the sound. At first, he dismissed it as the call of some unfamiliar bird, but as it became more strident and persistent, he recognized the sound. It was a whistle. More importantly, it was Allan's whistle, the one Will himself had taught him years ago, when they'd first joined Robin's gang. Will looked around, surprised. Why would Allan be using that signal now? Was he in some sort of trouble? More importantly, was Djaq with him?

On impulse, he let out his own whistle, an answering signal that he hoped Allan would recognize. But after he'd done it twice, there was no answer, and confused, Will headed in the direction of the sound, trying to figure out what was happening, and hoping there were no more strange discoveries in store for him.

—

Allan nearly fell over in surprise when the familiar sound of Will's signal echoed in the distance. He'd been expecting to find a scout of Robin's, or perhaps Robin himself. To have Will answer was both a surprise and a rude shock, especially as he'd had no reason to think Will even remembered the old signals. In his surprise, Allan forgot to whistle back.

Djaq nudged him. "What was that? Is it Robin?"

He shook his head, and began to answer when a thought came to him. What if it wasn't Will at all? It could be some elaborate trick, and he was not about to be taken in by such a thing, especially not with Djaq around. Despite her protests, he felt responsible for her, for her safety, and he would not risk danger to her.

"No, it's not Robin. Let's head away from here. He might be somewhere else." He tried not to sound too alarmed, but Djaq was too clever for him.

"What is happening here, Allan? You seem worried."

"Nah. It's just because I don't know where Robin is, or how long it's going to take to find him."

She looked smug for a moment before following him. "I told you whistles were a dumb way to signal."

—

Peter of Doncaster put a hand to his forehead and looked up, trying to get his bearings in the forest. Next to him, Robin chuckled. "It's this way, Peter."

"How can you be so certain?"

Robin smirked and tapped his nose. "I just know." Then, convinced he'd teased Peter enough, he relented. "We're headed to Barnsdale, yeah? It's by the river, and if you're really quiet, you can hear the Trent. You just follow the sound."

Peter nodded, but there was an edge of anger to it, and Robin cringed a little. The man was hard enough to be around, with his sullen manner and his scarred face, and he'd rather not have him angry. "Listen, it's only another hour or so. I'm supposed to meet a few townspeople, and I can't imagine they have much to say I haven't heard already." He had no idea if the words would set Peter at ease, but the man seemed happiest when he was around the others in the gang, and heading back to their makeshift camp sooner rather than later would be a good idea. Robin tried to change the subject.

"So what have you been hearing?"

"In the villages? Not much. But in the towns, there's talk of money being moved. Lot of confusion about why and where, of course."

Robin nodded. The movement of money could be nothing more than usual tax collection. But it could also mean the Sheriff—and Prince John—were planning a large operation. Without more details, it would be impossible to know for sure. _If only we still had a spy in the castle…_

That thought brought with it a surge of grief and bitterness, and Robin bit down the emotion before it overwhelmed him. He took in a deep breath and broke off into a run. "Let's go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll be home again."

He raced down the path and dropped easily into a short ravine, Peter clambering down after him. To their surprise, they were met not with open road, but with swords pointed at their necks.

"Allan?"

"Robin!"

Robin stared blankly at their present company, but just as he was about to launch into a question, another voice cut across the clearing.

"Djaq!"

"Will?"

Peter burst out into laughter. "What in the world are you lot doing here?"

—

Allan looked from Will to Robin and back again, trying to figure out why they were all at the same place at the same time. Robin at least was meant to be here, and it was just as well he'd shown up too. But Will's presence was disconcerting, and the pack he was carrying under his arm was too familiar for comfort.

He covered up his concern with his usual bluster. "Oh, we were just takin' a walk, like. What are you doing here, Will?"

Will seemed confused, and he looked to Djaq for help but when she said nothing, Will glared at Allan, looking more sullen than usual. "Had something I wanted to ask you about."

Allan's eyes fell back on the pack, and he panicked, guessing what Will had uncovered, and unable to think of how to keep it quiet until he'd had a chance to talk to him.

Will must have picked up on Allan's doubt, and he acted with surprising speed. _Since when are you so clever, Will?_

"Robin, it's a good thing you're here. I have something to tell you."

Allan moved in front of him. "Yeah, but we were here first! And we have something to say too. Something really important."

Robin seemed amused by all this. He turned his attention to Allan and inclined his head genially in his direction. "So? Tell me then."

"Um, yeah. Djaq here's going to tell you."

All eyes turned to Djaq, and she drew back a little in surprise, not expecting to share her piece just yet. "It's about the king. We—"

Robin perked up instantly. "About the king? What have you heard? Where?"

"Gis—"

Allan cut her off immediately. "Guards. There were some castle guards at the Trip. We heard them talking. You know how they are." Allan laughed nervously, but nobody seemed convinced. Will was still glaring at him and Peter seemed even more suspicious than usual.

Robin shook his head and turned his attention back to Djaq. "Well, what is it?"

Djaq hesitated, and Allan guessed she was buying herself a bit of time, so he helped her along. "The king's left the Holy Land. It's been a few weeks, actually."

Robin nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. It's just as I said. It's only a matter of time before he's back here. Where he belongs."

Djaq shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Robin. The king's been captured."


	29. Chapter 29: Asunder

**Asunder**

Robin of Locksley sat on a rock, scratching something into the dirt with a stick. He'd been morose and out of sorts, but the news of King Richard's capture had been just the thing he'd needed. It had roused him to action and given him a new purpose. He now had a plan, and more importantly, a new course for himself and his men.

Too long, this business of helping the king had been a vague proposal, a mere wish for a better world than they lived in. Robin himself often doubted whether an England with Richard at the helm was necessarily a good thing. Prince John was a clever man, cast mostly in his father's mold, and perhaps in the end, he would prove better suited to the throne than his brother. But as Henry had run afoul of his barons and been forced to make friends with unsavory men, so John had put too much faith in creatures like Vaysey, who were like cancers on the face of the land. Richard, on the other hand, and despite his many faults, was a good man. He was not easily swayed from the right path, and with the influence of his mother and his loyal knights, he could do much good for England. Indeed, he'd have to, just to make up for the damage his absence had done to his people.

That would have to wait until the man actually came back to England, of course. And now, with his capture and ransom, his safe return was once again in deep doubt. Robin turned his attention to Djaq. She seemed on-edge, as did Will. It was a curious thing too, because it was mirrored almost exactly by Allan's uneasiness. It made Robin question what they were keeping from him, but he trusted Djaq and Will too much to believe they'd be up to anything nefarious. He pushed aside his own disquiet and gave Djaq a questioning look.

"So what do you know about the ransom?"

She shrugged. "Not enough, I'm afraid. The details were…spotty." She seemed about to say more when Allan interrupted.

"Yeah, and remember, we were just eavesdroppin' and all. You can get a lot of stuff wrong that way." He grinned, more sheepish than amused.

Will glared at Allan, and mumbled. "Yeah, you would know."

Robin allowed himself a moment of amusement at their bickering before lapsing back into seriousness. "Well, whatever it turns out to be, we need money."

"We could always steal it, like." Peter of Doncaster had been a mostly silent witness to the conversation so far, and when he spoke, Robin startled. Then he relaxed and chuckled, but found no answering trace of amusement on the other man's face. _Well, then. Stealing it is._

"We need a plan."

Djaq laughed. "You mean _you_ don't have one yet?"

"Fair enough. But I've always had you lot come up with something, so that's what we'll do now." Thoughts began to race through his head at lightning speed, and he began to reel off names and tasks.

"Allan, get Little John back to Torloton. Find out what the villages have for weapons. Bows, arrows, knives, whatever you can find. If we do this, there's going to be trouble, and we'll need to make sure we're armed.

"Will, we're going to need boxes or chests, something to keep coin in. But be clever about it. We don't want anyone else to know we have money." He waited until the sullen expression on Will's face cleared and he could see the younger man's eyes turn bright at the prospect of a job, a real task.

"And Djaq. When you get back to the priory, tell Much I need a full account of his food supplies, and how many people he expects to feed there this winter." He scratched his chin thoughtfully before continuing. "I was going to do this myself, but you might as well. Write a letter to the abbot at Kirklees, only as if it's from me. Tell him what you've heard and that the king will need to be ransomed somehow."

Djaq frowned at him. "Is that safe? Are you certain he's your…er, ally?"

"I'm not certain at all. But friend or foe, you'll only be telling him the truth, and his reaction will confirm whose side he's on."

Djaq nodded, although the look of doubt did not leave her face. Robin ignored it, having long-resigned himself to having only half-a-plan and working through the rest of it as it came to him. Djaq was clever enough to understand where he was going, but she had only a shallow understanding of the political machinations at play in England, and in a way, the less she knew, the better it would be. For the king, for Robin and even for Djaq herself.

He stuck the stick back into the dirt. "We'll meet back here in a week's time, and you can tell me whatever else you hear. True or otherwise. Understood?"

Satisfied only when each of them had considered his words and nodded approval, Robin dusted off his breeches and walked back into the woods, Peter following close behind him.

—00—

Djaq pulled her knees up to her chest and moved closer to Will. By the time they'd been ready to leave and make their way back to their respective billets, it had been too dark to walk through the forest, and they'd decided to simply spend the night at the old camp. It had been amusing at first, but then the rain had come. The camp roof was in desperate need of repair, and water poured through gaping holes in the rushes, drenching them to the bone.

They'd finally found a corner in the back of the camp where the ground was only a bit damp and where the rush-covered roof was still holding up. It was too wet to build a fire and too noisy to sleep, so they'd settled for just cuddling together to keep warm and talk.

"So what is the problem with this pack you have?"

Will looked sheepish. "It's…nothing. Just something I found in the woods."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Allan seemed very curious about it though."

"Yeah. But Allan's curious about everything that isn't his business."

Djaq laughed. "You are very silly when it comes to Allan. Whatever it is that happened between you, it's in the past now. You should let it go."

Will met her eyes, but in the darkness she could not discern the expression on his face. "That's just it. I'm not so sure it's all in the past."

She frowned at him. "What does that mean? What does that have to do with this mysterious pack?"

"It's just…it's hard to explain. Someone had it who shouldn't have had it, and I think Allan knows about it."

"Because?"

Will bristled. "I don't know! Because Allan's a thief."

Djaq was appalled at the accusation, but a moment later, she laughed. "So what? We're all thieves. We steal from all the people who come through the forest."

Will frowned, silent and sullen for a long while. When he spoke up, his gaze was so intense that Djaq had to look away, even in the darkness. "What's the point of all this?"

She stared back, confused. "Of what?"

"Of what we do? Of stealing. Or fighting. For the poor, for the king, whatever?"

"It's…" She hesitated, realizing she'd never thought of it as more than a chance to help others and somehow end the strife in her own land. "I think it's good that we help those who can't help themselves, that we help bring justice to the world—"

"Yeah, that's fine. But what happens after all that?"

"After?" Djaq shook her head, uncertain where Will was going, and uncomfortable with the pain in his voice. She put a hand on his knee. "Will, what is it you want?"

He shrugged off the hand. "I want to be a man."

"What?"

He shook his head. "We do all this so there'll be justice in the world, yeah? So there'll be peace, and we don't have to be outlaws anymore. So we can be real men."

He put a hand to his head. "I'm sick of all this. I want to be a man, a real man. The sort of man who can take care of himself, of his wife." He grunted in exasperation and threw a twig at one of the corner poles in the camp. The noise startled Djaq and she jerked away from him. He caught the movement and was immediately mollified. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No." She sidled back close to him, snaking her arm through his. "I understand. But you shouldn't worry. You don't have to take care of me. I'm—"

He gripped her hand, and his hold was so tight it was almost painful. "I do. I know that you take care of yourself, that you always have. But that doesn't mean I don't want to do it too." He looked her right in the eye and this time, Djaq found she could not look away. "You're all I have now. You and the baby, and I want to be able to take care of you." He was shaking in frustration, and she ran a hand along his arm to calm him down. "I want a home, a real home. A family. I just…" His voice trailed off, but Djaq could see he was miserable and she hugged him close.

"Shh, shh. I know. It will be alright. I promise."

—00—

_On the road to Torloton_

Will sat on a tree stump, whittling a twig. Chips of wood flew angrily off the edge of his knife as he tried to gather his thoughts. It had been half-a-day since he'd set out from the old camp back to Torloton, but a driving rain had forced him to take shelter. There had not been much cover in that part of Sherwood, and eventually, he'd settled for this old tree stump and the hood of his cloak. Neither had done him much good, and he was now sopping wet and miserable. To top it off, he was no closer to figuring out the mystery of Anne and her pack. He had hoped to make it back to the camp by nightfall, so he could confront her with it, but the sun was already low in the sky and he was nowhere near the caves yet.

He sighed and tossed the twig onto the ground, finding a longer piece of wood to work with instead. He had put it off as long as he could, but now, he had no choice but to stop and contemplate the day's events. He'd been surprised—nearly as surprised as Robin—to hear of the king's kidnapping, and he was perturbed that Gisborne was the one who'd delivered the news to Djaq. Will wondered how Gisborne had even heard the news. The man was not close to the seat of power anymore, so it seemed strange that he'd know of the king's whereabouts when even Robin did not. More, however, he was upset and worried that Gisborne had tapped Djaq as his messenger. Will did not know why exactly, but he could not keep down the feeling that her involvement could only be a bad thing.

He'd meant to talk her out of it, tell her to stop because she'd already done her part. Let Gisborne take care of Gisborne's salvation. But once they'd reached the old camp and he'd seen how tired she looked, he'd decided to keep his worries about the situation to himself. In the end, she'd ended up being more concerned about _him_ anyway. He'd wanted to tell her about what he'd learned about Anne, what he thought Allan had to do with it all. But he did not know the whole story yet, and without all the details, he hadn't been able to muster the right words.

But he had said other things to her, and he cursed himself roundly for them. It was not in Djaq's nature to be angry with him, not really, but he'd probably left her thinking he was afraid of fatherhood—and the worst of it was this was not necessarily a lie. The child itself did not really scare him, of course. He'd been around babies before, and they were innocent and helpless. But they were also deserving of love and guidance, of parents who knew enough to teach their children the difference between good and evil, between right and wrong. His own father had been such a good man. Will had fond memories of Dan teaching him how to saw wood, how to catch fish in the river, even how to be polite and respectful of the women in the village.

But in the end, Dan had been a slave to his circumstances. Crippled by poverty and injustice, he'd allowed others to control how he lived his life. In that instant, it had not been Dan but Robin who had shown Will—indeed, all of them—the way. For all his recklessness, his stubborn refusal to see the world as others did, Robin had shown them it was possible to stand up for what you believed in, to fight against those who wanted to trample on you. That was the difference between Robin and other men in the end. Robin was a man of conviction, of action. Dan was a…

The knife slipped and nicked Will's hand, and he dropped it in shock. It was not the sight of blood but the sudden realization that had surprised him. _Dan was a father_. Whatever else he'd been in his life—apprentice, master craftsman, serf—it must have all paled in significance before the real charge laid for him. He'd raised his sons as well as he could, and if he'd never risen up against those with more power, it was not because he'd been afraid of the consequences, but because he could not afford to lose the two lives that mattered most to him.

_So that's it then. Your job is to fight, but not for yourself. Not for the king. Not for the poor. For Djaq. For the baby. That's all. _

—00—

_Somewhere near Newstead_

Djaq kept a brisk pace, ignoring the cramping in her legs from sitting too long, or the sharp hunger pangs she was beginning to feel. She shot a dark look at Allan, walking beside her, and for once, in complete silence.

"You don't have to follow me. I can walk through the forest without falling down and breaking my neck!"

Allan looked sheepish. "Look, it's not like I don't know that. I know you can take care of yourself. But that doesn't mean you don't need help."

Djaq ignored the creeping discomfort she felt at the sharp echo of Will's words in Allan's speech. She put her arms on her hips and stared him down, willing herself to look defiant instead of petulant. "What do I need help with?"

Allan matched her, stare for stare, and then smirked. "Lots of things. But for now, we'll just stick with Gisborne."

Djaq feigned ignorance for a moment, but realized quickly that Allan would see through such an obvious evasion. "And how do you intend to help me on that score?"

"Well, I know where we can find him, for starters."

She goggled. She'd been hoping to find some sort of missive or message from Gisborne, instructing her where they could meet next, but apparently, even Allan was privy to more information than that. "How…how do you know?"

"He's lodgin' at a tavern near Blidworth. One of my men—er, one of the lads in the gang—he tracked him down." Allan shuffled his feet before giving Djaq a pointed look. "And I worked for Gisborne, remember? I know how his mind works."

She was about to dismiss Allan's remarks with a snigger, but it struck her that Allan was at least partly right. He did have more insight into Gisborne than almost anyone else, and maybe that was worth mining. She considered Allan for a long moment, speaking only after she was certain he was aware of her scrutiny. "It is very hard for me to understand Gisborne. I don't know how…why…he did what he did."

Allan shuffled his feet, not meeting her eyes at first. But after a while, he gave a resigned shrug. "I don't think he meant to do it. It was just…an accident."

Djaq gaped at him, appalled at his easy dismissal of Gisborne's greatest crime. "An accident? So he pulled out his sword, and Marian just happened to be in the way?"

Allan hesitated before answering. "I just don't think he meant to do it."

Djaq scoffed. "Yes, that's a good excuse for everything, isn't it?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I think he really cared about Marian." Allan paused, giving Djaq a pleading look, begging for her to understand. "I think he loved her. In his own way, I mean."

Djaq kept her silence, if only to put Allan's mind at ease, but in truth, she could not understand a love so dark it would move a man to kill. Perhaps it was blood lust, perhaps it was madness, but it was not love. She shivered at the thought, and tried to change the subject, but Allan was not quite done yet.

"The thing is, he always tried to help her, protect her. You know? From the Sheriff, from other people who wanted to use her, from the noose." He gave her a small, sad smile. "Even from herself sometimes."

Djaq nodded. If there had ever been a woman who needed to get out of her own way...

Something Allan said leapt back at her. "The noose?"

Allan cleared his throat, nervous but keen to share. "Yeah. He found out she was the Nightwatchman, see. The Sheriff knew about the arrest and wanted a hanging."

"He knew?"

"Yeah. But Giz helped her get away. Well, _we_ helped her get away." Allan laughed, the sound echoing sadly through the forest. "Not far enough away, mind."

"No," added Djaq, saddened again by Marian's senseless death and the renewed sense that it could have been avoided. If only Marian had stayed with the gang in the forest; if only she'd realized she couldn't save Gisborne, not least from himself. _If only..._

She turned to Allan. "You never told Robin? That Gisborne knew about Marian and the Nightwatchman?"

Allan had the sense to look away. "I...I wanted to, but the time was never right. And then I couldn't really see the point to it." He gave her another pleading look. "You have to remember, we all thought Gisborne was dead, long gone!"

Djaq nodded, temporarily without a good response to Allan's logic. She fell silent and started to walk away, Allan falling in beside her. They traveled a good distance before either of them spoke, their silence full of the noise of doubt and uncertainty. At length, Djaq felt tired, and sat down heavily under a tree. "I am hungry."

Allan laughed. "We just ate."

She snapped at him. "So? We have been walking all over the forest. And we ate hours ago!"

"You sound like Much now."

Djaq swallowed the words on her tongue, and allowed that Much's obsession with food was humorous, if only in the sad, desperate way of all their lives these days. Besides, Allan had no reason to suspect why she needed food so badly, so she shrugged off his mockery, digging into her pack to retrieve bread from that morning.

She chewed thoughtfully as Allan made tracking marks on the trees. _That's clever of him_. In spite of all her time in the forest, she'd never learned even the basics of tracking through the woods. Allan, on the other hand, was an expert, better than anyone but Little John. It made her wonder what he'd been up to in the world before Robin had found him. She let her thoughts wander as Allan finished up and dropped himself on to the ground next to her.

"We should take shelter. Or we'll be swimming home soon."

She spoke around the food in her mouth. "You know something? I don't know how to swim."

"Really?" He seemed genuinely surprised, but the expression cleared and was instantly replaced by one of mischief, a dark twinkle in Allan's eyes. "I could teach you. I'm good at it." He shrugged meaningfully. "You'd have to take your clothes off, of course."

Djaq nearly choked on the last piece of her bread, but recovered quickly enough. "Maybe another time." She stood and dusted herself, taking great satisfaction in Allan's open-mouthed gape. She walked away and called back to him. "You better close your mouth. Before a tree branch falls into it."

Allan stammered in response and scrambled to his feet, quickening his pace to catch up with her. He spoke haltingly, more nervous than she'd ever seen him. "Would you really?" A look of alarm flitted across his face. "I mean, let me teach you how to swim, that is."

Djaq chuckled. "I do not think that's what you meant. And no, I would not." Too late, she realized she'd probably wounded him, and she tried to soften the blow. "Swimming seems quite useless in England, when it is so cold and rainy."

Allan laughed in a subdued way. "Yeah, and besides, Will would probably kill me."

"There is that."

Once again, they became quiet as they made their way to the forest, and this time, Djaq could barely hear the forest over the din of unspoken thoughts, Allan's and her own. It was Allan who made the first move.

'Djaq," he began. "If I ask you something, just one thing, will you answer it. Honestly, I mean?"

She stopped in her tracks, almost certain where Allan was going, but surprised to hear him give voice to his thoughts. She hesitated at first, but at length, she decided to let him speak his mind. It was good for his soul, if not for hers. "Yes, of course, Allan. Always."

"Would you have ever...I mean, was there ever a chance. For you and me?" His voice trailed off, and he gave Djaq a pained look she'd never seen before.

For one frantic second, she considered lying to him, telling him what he wanted to hear, if only to erase the hurt from his face, his heart. But he'd asked her for an honest answer, and she would not give him false hope, not for the sake of convenience.

Djaq walked back to where he stood, looking so small under the canopy of trees. She reached up and cupped his face in her hand, and instinctively he leaned down towards her, expecting a kiss. But instead she laid her cheek against his and whispered. "You are my dearest friend, Allan. More than a friend, and you mean the world to me. Please let that be enough."

He was stiff and her words brought him no comfort, so she wrapped her arms around his waist and stroked his back until she felt the tension leaving his muscles. She pulled away from him, but was dismayed to see the hurt look still on his face. _Oh, Allah, give me strength._

She cast about for words to console him with, mere platitudes that would at least be a temporary salve. But Allan saved her the effort.

"It's alright, Djaq. I mean, I'm a grown man, and I've heard worse. Yeah?"

"Yeah." She gave him a weak smile and pointed at the trail. "Shall we?"

He nodded and fell into step next to her. "Just tell me this one thing. Why Will?"

_Because he's truth and hope and all that I thought I'd lost in this world._ But she could not quite speak the words that ran through her mind, so she shrugged. "I don't know, Allan. It just happened."

–00—

_Torloton_

By the time Will arrived at the makeshift camp, the caves were just jagged shadows against the night sky. He was tired, still quite damp and wanted nothing more than a hot meal and a chance to sleep. But instead of the quiet sight he'd expected, he found a buzz of activity at the camp.

As he neared, Matthew hollered out to him. "Where have you been? We've been looking for you!"

"I wasn't gone that long!" Will yelled back. "Got stuck in the rain."

"Well, get yourself inside now. There's work to do."

Will trotted up to the mouth of the cave, pleased to see a fire going and the men sharing a stew of some sort. A bowl was thrust into his hand, and he knelt by the fire, shoveling food into his mouth until he felt like himself again. He chewed hastily and spoke around a mouthful of bread.

"What's going on here anyway?"

"Little John's back. He wants us to make rounds of the villages to get information. Wouldn't say why, mind." Matthew laughed. "But we don't ask questions, we just do as we're told."

"A good plan." He tried to stick with the light mood in the camp, but if John was already doing what Robin had asked, then news traveled fast in Sherwood indeed, faster than even men did. Will's mind was awhirl. Did they have some intricate way of sending messages? Pigeons? No, it wasn't possible that so much had changed in the time he and Djaq had been away. There had to be something else. Or _someone_ else.

He fingered the pack still lodged safely under his arm. If he was a betting man, he'd wager the girl Anne knew a thing or two about it. She was at the camp now, sitting quietly next to Brother David, signing words at him every now and then. The monk listened carefully, and it was an entirely different conversation that he'd ever seen the girl have with anyone else, even with signs.

Will waited for the commotion in the camp to die down, and as men finished their meal and the mouth of the cave became less crowded, he rose and made his way to Anne and David. She smiled brightly at first, but as he got closer, the expression changed and he noted her glance at the monk in alarm.

He dropped the pack at her feet. "Do you want to tell me what you're up to?"

Anne drew the pack quickly to herself and gaped at him, mute as ever. Will hissed in irritation. "And don't pretend you can't hear. I think you hear just fine, and you can probably speak too."

She shook her head, looking frightened, and Will felt ashamed. It had not been his intention to frighten her, but he'd put the question out now, and he needed an answer. He tried to soften his voice. "Tell me what you're doing, why you have the Nightwatchman's things."

"Leave her alone." The monk rose and stood between Will and Anne. "She can't tell you anything. You know that."

"I don't." A new thought came to Will. "And what's your game here? Are you in on this with her?"

David smirked, but gave no answer, pushing Will to more anger. "You're probably not even Welsh. Or a monk. Is David even your real name?"

The monk laughed. "Well, two of three isn't all bad, wouldn't you say?"

Will frowned, confused by the jest and unsure how to react.

David dropped his voice to a whisper. "My name is David, and I am a Welshman."

"So you're not...not a monk then?"

David laughed in response, but another voice, only a whisper, spoke for him. "No. Far from it, in fact. He's my husband."

It was Anne.

–00—

_Near Blidworth_

Djaq drummed her fingers on the wood of the table, impatient and annoyed with herself for having taken such a chance. The last message she'd had from Gisborne was unclear, and he had not specified a time or a place for a meeting. But armed with Allan's information about Blidworth, she'd decided to take matters into her own hands.

Once she'd arrived at the inn where Gisborne was lodging, however, the bravado had receded a bit, and matters were made worse by the curious stares she was getting from a strange man on the other side of the room. She shivered, and across the table, Allan gave her a knowing smirk.

She glared at him. "This is your fault. You said he was staying here."

"He probably is. Maybe he had to step out. Maybe he's havin' a bit of a kip."

Djaq's fingers itched with a sudden desire to strike Allan, and she began to have sympathy with Will's views on their friend. Still, it was hardly Allan's fault that she'd decided to come to Blidworth uninvited, and it would serve her right if she were to return empty-handed. But her wounded pride was not the only thing at stake. She was desperate to gain some knowledge, insight into the king's capture, anything that would help Robin in his cause.

Allan leaned across the table. "I could help you, you know. If you asked me."

Djaq glared at him, ready to put him down with a cutting remark. But this was also just the opening she was looking for. "That would be very helpful. Maybe you can ask the innkeeper." Djaq eyed him meaningfully. "She seems just your type."

Allan turned and gave the innkeeper a quick glance. "Maybe." He winked at Djaq, but became serious a moment later. "Do you really need my help, or are you just trying to get rid of me."

"Yes."

Allan laughed. "You think you're pretty clever, and that's alright. Because you are clever and all. But be careful, alright?"

She put a hand over Allan's, reassuring him. Satisfied, Allan sauntered off to chat up the innkeeper, leaving Djaq to her own thoughts. She was annoyed with Allan, but mostly just with herself. This trip to Blidworth had been a whim more than anything, a chance to prove to Robin what she was capable of. Yet neither Robin nor any of his men had actually asked for proof, or even suggested a need for it, so she was at a loss to explain her own conduct. Her life was changing, of course, and there was a good chance this would be her last great adventure. That thought rankled and she pushed it away, not wanting the reminder of her womanly limitations.

She scrubbed at a stain on the table so fiercely that her fingers rubbed off a bit of the finish, and as she cursed herself, a voice behind her caught her attention. Gisborne...

"Has the table offended you?"

"No." She crossed her arms defiantly and stared him down. "You're late."

Gisborne did not answer, instead drawing up a chair and studying her carefully.

"Well?" Djaq asked, with some irritation.

"Well what?"

"Information. I assumed you had some."

Gisborne laughed, a bitter edge to his mirth. "You sound like the Sheriff now."

Djaq was appalled. "No, of course not. I'd never-"

"Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just...he always wanted to know everything, and always right away. Sometimes I think he cared more about knowing things than he did about money." He paused, looking out of the window for several moments, lost in his thoughts. "The Sheriff would say that a man who didn't know things wouldn't have money either, I suppose."

Djaq pondered his words. Gisborne was bitter, even angry, but the wistful tone of his voice was not lost on her either. He'd spent a lot of time with the Sheriff, after all. And if Allan could see good in someone like Gisborne, then perhaps Gisborne could see good in a man like the Sheriff.

"So what happened?" she asked.

"What?"

"With you and the Sheriff. You were once his most loyal man, and now you want to bring him to his knees."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Good? Yes. Sensible? I don't know."

He scoffed. "I've never been sensible, so it's hardly a surprise."

"But why now? What's changed?"

Gisborne gave her a sharp look. "Everything. The world is...upside down. This is the only way to right it again. I'm going to put a dagger through his heart, maybe with Hood's help, maybe without. But at the end of the day, the Sheriff will be gone, and everything will be right again."

"But it will not. You said so yourself before. There are hundreds of men just like the Sheriff." She hesitated, worried about pushing him too far. "It's not really about helping Robin defeat him, is it? It is just...revenge, is it not?"

"Maybe." There was anger in his eyes, a fury that Djaq thought might be unleashed against her. Instead, he banged a fist on the table and turned away from her. "They're true, you know. The rumors." He laughed mirthlessly and the sound echoed dully in the near-empty room. "I did try to kill the Sheriff. But I didn't quite make it. Instead, he stabbed me and left me to rot in the desert."

He turned back to her, eyes blazing, but voice low and soft. "But it isn't really about him, or even men like him. I don't care one wit about Hood either." He scoffed. "In fact, if Robin of Locksley died tomorrow, I'd dance on his grave."

Djaq startled, surprised by Gisborne's vehemence, the strength of his bile. "Do not say-"

"No, it's not about the Sheriff," Gisborne went on, not even pretending to listen to Djaq. "It's about undoing the things he's done. The things I've done in his name. It's about..." His voice trailed off and a look of great pain crossed his face. "It's about doing the right thing, to honor _her_, to do something worthy of _her_."

"Stop it," Djaq interrupted. "You cannot speak of her. You cannot take her name like this. Not after what you've done."

Gisborne slapped the table with such force that Djaq nearly jumped out of her seat. "Damn it! Don't you see? That's just why I have to speak of her, to do the things she wanted. It's the only way I can make up for it."

Djaq bristled. "You think there's some way to make up for what you've done? You are mad if you think that anything short of-"

"Dying? Letting Hood kill me? Does that make up for it then?" He smirked. "Or is it just revenge?"

"No, that's..."

Gisborne relented a little, moving away from her, his manner softening as he spoke. "She wanted to do things, big things. Change the world, if she could. I didn't really understand that. I don't think Hood did either.

"So I want to help change it. I don't think it's too late." He regarded Djaq frankly. "And I need Hood's help to do it. That's why you're here."

Djaq nodded, trying to compose herself as Gisborne's emotional words and her own thoughts roiled inside her. "You have something to tell me?"

He nodded. "The ransom. It's been decided. The king's mother will take charge of it and travel with it to the Emperor."

"And the money? She will raise it herself?"

"No, it's being raised here, by a new tax."

Djaq groaned. Robin would not be happy about this. But then again, neither would the Sheriff, since this money would not benefit him. "How much? How long to collect it?"

"It's the same as the Saladin tithe." He gave her a sad smile, and Djaq forced herself to return the gesture, the irony obvious to both of them.

"William de Longchamp, the king's chancellor, has been charged with taking the ransom to Aquitaine. But he and Prince John are not on good terms, and the Sheriff is in the prince's corner."

"So? He's going to try to stop this Longchamp?"

"Yes. Longchamp travels south to France from his home in the north. He'll be carrying too much gold to travel inconspicuously, and he'll avoid the forest for fear of robbery." Gisborne laughed. "That's more your area than mine, to be honest."

Djaq smiled, allowing this was true. "So the Sheriff is going to steal the money before Longchamp gets to France, presumably."

"Exactly. Hood needs to get to Longchamp first; take the money before the Sheriff gets wind of it."

"How much time do we have?"

"Not much at all. Longchamp leaves Lincoln in two days. He'll be near Nottingham, somewhere on the Great North Road, by the end of the week."

Djaq nodded. "Robin will think of something."

Gisborne sputtered. "Yes, I'm sure he will."

Djaq ignored the slight mockery in his voice. Gisborne and Robin could contest as they liked, but she wanted no part of it. The woman they were fighting over was long gone, and there seemed no point to their mutual hatred, beyond revenge. She sighed, deeply saddened by the whole thing and got up to leave.

Gisborne seemed to catch the change in her mood, and as she stood, he took hold of her wrist to keep her from leaving. He stammered a bit. "I...I don't know if you care. But I did love her, you know." He laughed nervously and looked to her for some sort of approval.

Djaq was surprised to hear the echo of Allan's earlier words. _This_ was not love.What sort of love bound a man instead of freeing him? What sort of love brought anger instead of joy? What sort of love was it that had to be endured instead of enjoyed? _Poor man. _But he'd never know the difference, and she wasn't about to shatter his illusions.

She nodded sadly, pulling her wrist out of his grasp. "Yes, I imagine you did love her. In your own way."

–00—

Will looked from Anne to David and back to Anne, his surprise keeping his mind from being able to work out a response. He sputtered, searching for the right words, but gave up when a stupid sounding "Eh?" was the only thing that came out. He settled for a raised eyebrow and an unspoken question.

"I suppose we need to explain ourselves," David added, more amused than angry. Anne, on the other hand, seemed genuinely upset to have been discovered.

She spoke in a whisper. "I'm sorry. But I can't be seen talking. Do you understand?" Will noted she had a different accent than David, almost French, and with her low tone, that made her even harder to hear. But he got the general idea, and nodded. Relieved, she loped away to a different corner of the cave, the pack secure under her arm.

David said nothing, watching her intently as she walked away. After several quiet moments, he turned to Will. "Do you know that feeling? You look at a woman, for the first time or maybe even the thousandth time, but something happens, and you can't even remember your own name?"

Will chuckled. If there was a man in the world who knew that feeling exactly, it would be Will himself. He felt a dull ache in his chest and a lump in his throat, a reminder of how much he missed Djaq. He tried to shake off the feeling by focusing his attention on David. "So what's the story? You're not a monk."

"No. In fact, I'm a prince of sorts."

"Really?"

David chuckled at Will in the good-natured way of a shared joke. "But being a prince in Wales is a lot like being a peasant in England, so it's not saying much, mind you."

"And her?"

"She's nobody. She's really called Emme, but the name's never been important. Not to her anyway." He leaned towards Will and whispered conspiratorially. "And I was a monk once. Or at least I was going to be."

"What happened?"

"She did. Once I'd seen her, it felt like I'd already found what it took other men a lifetime to discover through prayer. I couldn't forsake all my worldliness for God after that."

Will nodded. "What are you doing here then? Why are you even in England?"

"We had to leave Wales. There was a bit of a scandal, with a monk running away with a girl and all." David scratched his chin thoughtfully before going on. "As to what we're doing here? Well, we're keeping an eye on Robin of Locksley. On behalf of the king."

Will was aghast. "Why? Robin's always been loyal to the king. Before anyone else."

David hesitated, but met Will's eyes evenly. "Well, to be honest, it's not really Robin we're concerned about. It's the men around him. Not just his gang, mind you. But the lords and the ladies who claim to be his friends, whose cause he furthers in the name of King Richard."

"So you're spies then?"

"I don't like that word, I must admit. But yes, I am. So is Anne."

Will narrowed his eyes. "Who else?"

"Nobody."

"Liar."

David laughed. "Alright. Just two others. Peter of Doncaster. You know him?" He did not wait for Will to acknowledge. "I'm sure you do. He's a bit hard to miss, what with the scar and the hard manner."

"And?"

"A woman called Mary Baxter. In Newstead, although to be fair, she was already at the priory, baking bread, long before the rest of us came to the forest."

Will considered all the information. "But if all you need to do is know who surrounds Robin, maybe even warn him, why not just do it straight up? Why all the disguises and the secrecy?"

David laughed again, but this time, mockery was apparent in the sound. "Don't know much about being a spy, do you?"

"You'd be surprised."

David raised an eyebrow, a bit thrown by Will's answer. "Well, there's a trick to being a spy, see? You have to get men to speak to you, or at least around you. And in an open and honest way."

He gave Will a pointed look, and after a moment, Will looked away, remembering that he'd done nearly the same thing with so many men in Acre. He'd tried to persuade them to see things his way, and he'd done it by hiding his real thoughts while pretending to care about theirs. _Only I wasn't really pretending, was I? I did care..._The voice in his head did not sound convincing even just to him.

David spoke on, unaware of Will's inner battle. "You can pretend to be deaf, so men will speak their mind without paying you any attention. You can bake bread and win the trust of many a hungry man. You can look so frightening that no man would ever consider lying to you." His voice trailed off, and Will was glad for the moment of silence, because it gave him a chance to piece everything together.

David fingered the fabric of his cowl. "I'm a monk, or I pretend to be one. The robe inspires trust, the crucifix I carry invokes faith. I find most men desperate to confide in a man with a direct connection to God."

"But you're lying to them, about what you are. And when you're discovered-"

"_If_ we're discovered..."

"_When_ you're discovered, the men you lied to will be shattered. They'll think you betrayed them."

"You intend to tell Robin?"

"I have to. He doesn't like his men keeping secrets from him." The words made Will uncomfortable, a sudden reminder that he was not being entirely honest with Robin either. And Djaq was keeping her share of secrets as well. "I have to tell him about the Nightwatchman business, at least."

"Ah, that one, at least, was not our idea. It was Allan's plan."

Will sighed. Of all the things he'd learned today, this was the least shocking. "Of course it was Allan's idea."

David sighed in return. "You shouldn't be so hard on Allan. He's...a good man. His heart is in the right place.

"More than that, he knows how to get things done. And if he's not always perfectly honest or scrupulous, so what?"

Will bristled. "What's wrong with being honest? Or scrupulous?"

"Nothing," David shrugged. "But there are no rewards for poor men who are honest."

"It's supposed to be its own reward."

"Is it?"

Will frowned. He felt cornered, like David had deliberately pushed him to admit to things he hadn't even considered before. He shrugged. "I...I don't know about all that. I just know this business with the Nightwatchman...it's wrong. I have to tell Robin."

"Why?" David pressed on. "What does it have to do with Robin anyhow? Allan told us the Nightwatchman had been bringing the poor succor long before Robin ever did. Is it so terrible that someone should don the mantle again?"

Will shook his head and was about to add that his own family had felt the Nightwatchman's generosity, but a new thought came bursting out of his mind. It gave Will a chance to ensnare David as that man had done to him not moments before. "Don't you ever wonder what happened to the Nightwatchman? The real one, I mean."

David gave Will an odd look. "I...I suppose I never thought to ask. I assumed that whatever man had done the deed before, he was gone."

"Gone alright. Dead." Will moved in for the finish, surprised at the glee he felt at sparring with words and ideas. "And not a man either."

"What?"

Will smirked. "Didn't you know? The Nightwatchman was a woman." He stood and dusted himself off. "And not just any woman. Robin's woman. _Marian_."

David gaped at him, too shocked to answer. Will decided it was wise not to press his victory too much. It was enough that David—and Anne—knew where they'd gone wrong.

He was nearly to the mouth of the cave when David's voice caught him. "Where are you going?" he asked, alarm clear in his voice. "Are you going to tell Robin?"

Will sighed. "No. I wanted to. But I changed my mind." He turned and fixed David with his stare. "You used to be a monk. It's for you to decide how you make up for your sins."

–00—

_Several hours later_

Djaq stood at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree. She watched Will from a distance, enjoying the sight of him sitting on a gnarled tree stump, his hands busy with a new project. She sighed in contentment, glad that Will was the thing that awaited at the end of a day that had gone on just a bit too long. Allan had let her go into Locksley and then to the old camp by herself, but only with great reluctance. She'd practically had to threaten him with dire consequences just to get him to leave her be. In the end, he'd relented and she guessed it was at least partly because he knew she was off to see Will. She chuckled softly, amused by the fact that Will and Allan were so much alike, despite being so often at odds.

She watched as wood shavings flew off the stick Will was working with. Djaq was always amazed at how things took shape in his hands. Of course, the hands themselves were a marvel, moving constantly, scraping, whittling, making something out of nothing. She had a sudden memory of his hands in an entirely different context, against her skin, rough and callused, stroking and caressing, and she shivered in remembered sensation.

Djaq felt lightheaded and shook her head to clear it, calling out to him as she walked up to the tree stump. Will looked up as he heard her, his face breaking into a broad grin.

She held out her hands to him, happy to see the joy on his face. "You look happy."

Will took her hands and pulled her quickly into his lap. "I am now." He kissed her through her giggles, and as she felt those wonderful hands make their way under her tunic, she sighed against his mouth, and surrendered all rational thought. His lips were warm as they drew away from her mouth and across her face to her neck, and then lower, into the hollow at her throat. She gasped, clutching at his shoulders, saying his name in a breathy  
whisper.

And then, everything stopped. There was a different sensation now, new life asserting itself deep inside her womb. She'd never felt the baby move before, and it was a startling discovery.

"Will, stop!" She pushed him away and brought a hand immediately to her belly, worry and awe mingling in her mind.

He stopped at the sound of her voice, taking ragged breaths as he tried to compose himself. "What? Is something wrong? Are you alright?"

"I...I don't know. It's the baby. I think he moved."

Will gaped in surprise, but recovered quickly, giving her a shy smile. "Can I feel?"

Djaq nodded, and he put his hand to her stomach. After a few moments, he shook his head in confusion. "I don't feel anything."

"Maybe it will take a little longer," Djaq said, distracted. As Will waited patiently, new thoughts swarmed Djaq's mind. She was having a baby. It was not the first time she'd ever thought about the being growing inside her, but it had been an abstraction, a vague concept for the future. Now, everything was different. It was a living, moving thing, and soon, it would come into the world. She was going to give birth to a wailing, squirming baby. In the forest. As an outlaw.

_What were we thinking? What have we done? _There was a lump in her throat and she could feel hot tears of despair forming in her eyes. With effort, she blinked them back, not wanting to worry him with her new-found doubt. She moved Will's hand away and ignored the obvious question in his eyes.

"You know what? We need to go now."

He frowned. "What? Right now?"

"Yes." She tried to brush off her own anxiety and gave him a bright smile.

Will narrowed his eyes at her, not fooled by the attempt at false cheer. "We can't live in Sherwood anymore, can we?"

"No."

–00—

_A day later _

_Torloton_

Will sawed through a long piece of wood, letting it fall to the floor with a thunk when he was done. He leaned back and stretched, letting out an almost contented sigh. With Matthew's help, he'd managed to collect wood and frame the chests Robin wanted. He'd had to remind himself to keep it simple and functional, but Robin had charged him with finding a way to store coin while also hiding it, and that would need a lot more planning. He'd spent the best part of the last hour thinking about it, but nothing had come to him. The most obvious solution was to give the chest a false bottom, but that was too simple, and Will felt, less elegant a solution than he would have liked.

He sighed and kicked the sawn piece of wood away, letting his mind turn to other things. He'd been worried about Djaq since they'd parted a day ago. He'd been pleased she'd come to the same conclusion as him, that they could no longer live in the forest and still be a family, but he could not shake the feeling that leaving was still a last resort for Djaq, the thing she would do only if no other path was left to her.

As far as he knew, and despite her newfound fear, Djaq had little desire to leave Sherwood, and if she ever agreed to the proposition, it would only be to make him happy. But that was the last thing he wanted. He could not imagine a worse fate for Djaq than being pushed to do something out of fear. She'd spent half her life in mortal danger, but she'd always met it headlong. He'd just have to accept living in the forest . There were babies born in strange places all the time, and if anything, living in Sherwood might protect the babe from the sicknesses that spread so quickly in most towns and villages. Plus, they'd be in Robin's care and surely he'd never let anything happen to them...

His reverie was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. It was Matthew.

"We done here, Will?"

Will shook his head. "We still have to figure out a way to hide coin in the chest, if we need to."

"Just make a false bottom?"

"Yeah, I thought of that. But what if there's a lot of coin? The false part would need to be nearly as big as the whole chest. It would be pretty easy to figure out where the money was, yeah?"

Matthew nodded. "What if you put the false bottom somewhere else?"

"What? Like in the top? Instead of the bottom?" Will guffawed, but felt bad a moment later when he caught Matthew's crestfallen face. He thought of words that might take some of the sting out of his mockery, but his mind took him elsewhere, to a brand new idea. He gaped at Matthew, and then grinned, clapping the lad hard on the shoulder.

"Of course! You're a genius. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself. Not in the bottom, indeed."

Matthew frowned, clearly pleased by the compliment but unsure where Will was going. Will laughed and tried to explain himself.

"We'll put it in the sides of the chest. We'll make a chest with false walls instead of a false bottom. And we'll make the posts hollow and use those to hide coins too."

Matthew's face lit up. "That's brilliant. You're the genius."

Will colored predictably at the compliment and shrugged it off. "Nonsense. You thought of it, and now you're going to help me make it." He surveyed what they'd done so far. "We'll have to get more wood, of course."

They headed out of the caves and into the daylight, right into a bustling crowd. Half the camp was milling around and talking, their voices mixing into a low buzz as they all spoke at once. He could see both Allan and Little John in the crowd, but he could barely make out what any of them were saying. Fortunately, Allan made the problem go away, by letting out a sharp whistle blast that quietened the crowd immediately.

Allan grinned and then punctuated his moment of triumph. "Shut it, yeah? We've got important stuff to tell you."

Little John cleared his throat. "Robin's asked us to go to France." He hesitated and watched the tops of his boots for a minute before clearing his throat again and starting over. "We're off to Aquitaine, to see Queen Eleanor and save the king."

Will gaped in surprise. He couldn't think of any two of Robin's men less suited to the task. John was a good man, of course, but he'd lived so long in the forest, he'd never be mistaken for anything but an outlaw. And Allan? To Will, that was the same as setting a fox amid the chickens. What was Robin thinking?

He raised an eyebrow, more confused than curious. Allan caught the gesture and came over. From the expression on his face, however, it was clear to Will that Allan was not particularly pleased about the day's events.

"So. You're off to Aquitaine."

"Yeah." Allan smirked, although there was a wistful tone to his voice. "Can't you just see me at court?"

"No," Will added, with more good nature than he'd intended at first. "So..."

"You want to know why in Hell Robin would send me to do anything important?"

Will said nothing, wisely choosing not to admit to anything that Allan could throw back at him later.

"Well, he had to send someone." Allan called out to Little John. "It's not like Big Bear here can really travel on his own."

Little John frowned. "I could. I'm strong enough to-"

Allan chuckled. "You can't just be knocking people over with your staff, you know. Sometimes you need to be a bit more...delicate, like."

John snorted. "Yeah. You're delicate alright," he added, tapping his temple gently and rolling his eyes.

Allan mocked being hurt. "Make fun all you want. But if you're going to have brawn along, you need some brain too."

Will allowed—a bit grudgingly—that Allan's particular skills might actually be useful on a journey to France. It was like David had said before. Whatever other faults he might have, Allan was a man who knew how to get things, how to talk to people. Little John would keep him on the right path, so there was little chance for Allan to be tempted in his usual way. A voice in Will's brain piped up. _You're being unfair. Give him a chance. _

He watched as the other men surrounded Allan and Little John, full of questions and congratulations. Will sensed it was not quite the right moment to speak to either man, so he dropped back, happy to be away from the noise and the crowd. The wood for the coin chests was not going to collect itself anyhow. He strapped on his long axe and set off.

Will was certain he'd slipped away unnoticed, but after just a few minutes, he caught sight of the two shadows that had followed him into the woods. He wheeled on them, ready to give them a piece of his mind, but the sheepish look on the faces of both Anne and David made him temper his words.

"So you're following me? Again?"

Anne shrugged. "To be fair, it's really the first time we've followed you."

"Not suspicious enough for you?" Will asked.

She crossed her arms in a show of defiance. "Not important enough."

Will was more amused than hurt, and he chuckled. "Fair enough. It's true I'm not very important."

David narrowed his eyes. "Oh, but you are. In your way."

"You only say that because you're worried I'll talk to Robin."

Anne bristled. "We're not worried-"

The rest of her words were cut off by her husband. "What she means is that we're not afraid. Of you. Or of Robin of Locksley. But we have a mission, a charge. And we can't do what we set out to do if you tell Robin everything."

Will sighed. "For some reason, I thought you'd decide differently. That you'd _want_ to tell him. Because you're an honest man. Or at least you must have been one. Back when you were still..."

"A man of the Church? Well, I was an honest man. And I still am, and I daresay more so than most men of the Church."

"Then why don't you just tell Robin?"

"Only the sinner confesses, and I have committed no sin." David stared at his feet for a long time before speaking, the silence punctuated only by his breathing and by mumbled words from Anne that Will could not make out.

When he spoke again, there was regret in David's voice. "But I concede that what we've unwittingly hurt Robin. I think the knowledge would wound him more though, so I won't tell him." He gave Will a pointed look. "Do you understand?"

Will nodded. "Fine. Why are you telling me all this? It makes no difference to me."

David seemed troubled, so Anne spoke for him. "We feel bad for all that's happened. But we want to make amends somehow. We thought maybe we could go to France. With the others."

"With Allan?"

"Yes. And maybe you could talk to Allan and Little John on our behalf," David added. "Persuade them that we'd be useful."

"Why do you want to go?"

"It is our...atonement, if you will. We can help Robin from afar, and keep him out of trouble. But we'll put the Nightwatchman to bed, and we won't spy on his men. Not anymore."

"And the other spies? What about them?"

Anne shook her head. "They're on their own. They had no part in what we did, and we had no part in their actions."

Will considered the two of them carefully. Anne did not seem particularly sorry for anything, but there was a desperation to her defiance, a wild look in her eyes that suggested fear. _Probably afraid of what will happen to her if Robin knows. _Oddly, he felt no sympathy for her, nor any anger either. It was David's plight that moved him. Whatever the man had done, it had been for the love of a woman, and Will could not fault him for it.

He nodded sagely. "Fine, I'll ask Allan."

Anne grinned broadly, more triumphant than grateful. David said nothing, but as Will began to walk away, he stood in his path and held out his hand. Will took it but was taken aback when he felt something cold and hard press into his palm.

He pulled his hand away and shook his head. "No, I don't need your coin. Consider it a favor."

David smiled, and held his palm up so Will could see the thing he'd refused. "You misunderstand me. I do not buy your favor. Rather, I'd hope to give you mine." He held up a flat circle of wax. "It's my seal. I told you I was a prince of sorts. It may open a door or two for you. Later in life, when you are done with outlawry perhaps."

Will took it, fingering the raised letters. "Thank you. That's very kind."

David nodded, and this time, it was Anne who held out her hand, clasping Will's forearm in a gesture of friendship. "I think it's a fair exchange. Thank you."

They turned and walked away. Will watched them in silence, wondering about sacrifice and gratitude until the shadows began to grow and he set himself to chopping wood once again.

-00-

The sun had dipped in the western sky, and a lone torch had been lit outside the cave. Allan leaned on the wall of the cave, enjoying the cool of the rock on his back as he waited for the first star to appear in the sky. It was the first quiet moment he'd had in days, and he suspected it would be the last for a long while. He sighed in contentment, and drew in a long breath, trying to etch the smell and feel of Sherwood on his lungs.

But as he let the breath out, the sound of rustling leaves broke the serenity of the moment. He turned to find Will lugging an armload of firewood to the mouth of the cave.

"You need some help with that?"

Will shook his head and dumped the load of wood at the mouth of the cave. "No sense carrying it in anyway. I'm just going to whittle it down."

_Of course. What else could Will do with wood anyway? _But Allan wisely kept that thought to himself. "You don't have to chop it yourself, you know. Get one of the younger lads to do it."

Will shrugged. "I needed something to do anyway." He smirked at Allan. "I was getting a little bored of your celebration too."

Allan laughed. "Worth celebratin', mate. I mean, think about it. If I go to Aquitaine, and the king's mother makes me a lord, you might have to raise your glass to my health and all. I'll be the new Sheriff."

Will rolled his eyes. "I think you should worry about getting there first."

"It's nothing, innit? Just a bit of travel over the sea and in France. Be there in no time. And Little John's staff will take care of the rest, I reckon."

Will gave Allan a pointed look, worry in his eyes. "You don't really want to go, do you?"

"What makes you say that? It's the chance of a lifetime for me." _Of course I don't want to go. You just got back to England. And Djaq. She trusts me again..._

Allan shrugged off the thoughts in his head. "Besides, I couldn't really say no to Robin, could I?"

Will said nothing, and they lapsed into a silence that would have been comfortable for any two other men. But there were a million unsaid things between him and Will, things that had a life of their own and made it impossible to be at peace.

"Listen," Will's voice broke into the quiet. "Maybe you could take a couple of others with you. The monk David. Maybe the girl Anne too."

Allan raised an eyebrow at him, although he suspected Will couldn't see the expression in the dark. Pieces of a puzzle began to come together. He nodded. "So you know about her then? About the Nightwatchman stuff?"

"Yeah." Will scuffed the ground with his boot. "And I think I understand why you did it. But it has to stop."

Allan offered no argument. There were a hundred reasons to stop, and a hundred more reasons to go on. But it was wrong, _morally_ wrong, and that was the only thing that mattered to Will. He shrugged. "Fine. Stop it then."

"They go to France with you, and it stops. Right?"

"What would I do with them? Two travelers is nothing, but four is a poncy pilgrimage. Especially when one of them's a monk."

"He's not really a monk."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. You'll figure it out. But you need to take them with you. They could be useful. David can read. He talks like a nobleman. Maybe that helps. And Anne's good with a sword." Will chuckled. "You made sure of that. And between you and her, you could probably steal most of what you need."

Allan sniggered, allowing this was true. "And you don't think Robin will care that I took more of his men with me?"

"I'll explain it to Robin." Will did not elaborate and Allan did not ask for an explanation.

Silence fell on them again. Allan could see a sliver of moon in the sky now, and the pale point of light that would brighten into the North Star. He willed himself to speak. _Tell him he's as good as your brother, the one you should have had._ He wanted to give Will sage advice of the sort an older man should give a younger man. But nothing came to him. _And Will is already wiser than I am, in the ways that count..._

"So when do you leave?"

Allan sighed. "At first light. Before all the men are up. Too bloody early, if you ask me."

Will nodded, and then took Allan by surprise. "I'm going to miss you." There was a wistful note to Will's voice, a hint of melancholy that carried over and landed on Allan like a giant cloak, at once both warm and sad. It was like the end of all things, and Allan felt a lump in his throat.

He tried to shake off the sadness. "Nah. No reason to miss me. I'll be back in the forest before you know it."

Will shook his head. "I might not be here though."

"You...you're leaving?" Alarm rose sharply in Allan's chest, clouding out his melancholy. "Why?"

"I can't stay here...we can't. Not now." Will hesitated and cleared his throat before he went on. "We're having a baby. I mean, Djaq is. I mean—"

"What?" Allan let the words sink in. He thought about how tired Djaq had been, how she was hungry all the time. _Of course!_

He clapped Will gently on the shoulder. "That's bloody fantastic! I should have guessed, really. I can't believe you didn't tell me before." He knew he was blabbering, but the words seemed to have a mind of their own, and he knew of no other way to hide his disappointment at being left out of another part of his friends' lives. "But why do you have to leave?" The question was barely out of his mouth, but he knew the answer already. Nobody wished outlawry on their children.

He raised an eyebrow at Will. "Have you told the others? Robin?"

Will shook his head. "Just you. Djaq wants to wait a while."

"Well, I'm flattered then." He grinned at Will. "And if it's a boy, you'll name him after me, of course."

Will laughed. "Of course."

Allan laughed with him, but after a moment, the heaviness in his heart returned. Even if Will and Djaq stayed in the forest, even if the three of them were reunited, things would never be the same again. They'd made themselves into a family, and he'd never be a part of it, never be more than the third wheel. _It's just as well I'm leaving..._

He felt suddenly tired, exhausted by his own loneliness, by the cloying happiness of his friends. "Listen, Will, I need to talk to Little John about the monk and Anne." He ducked his head into the cave, but Will pulled him back with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Allan," he said, his hand still clapped to Allan's shoulder. "Thank you."

In their minds, the two men embraced.

–00-


	30. Chapter 30: North

**North**

She stood in the clearing, trying to ignore the world around her. There were others too—Robin, a few of his men, Little John and his travel companions, all standing around and shuffling their feet, trying not to make too much out of their farewells.

For her part, saying goodbye to Little John was difficult enough, but when it came to Allan, it was like losing a part of herself. Djaq struggled to keep her composure even as tears threatened at her eyes.

Allan's voice was low and soft. "So."

"So."

"Time to say goodbye."

She shook her head, aching from the lump in her throat. "It is not goodbye. You will be back soon."

He spoke, his voice halting and uncertain. "Will told me. That you might leave." He dropped his voice to a whisper, "You know, for the baby's sake."

She allowed herself a moment of surprise. "It is not decided. We may stay here after all."

"I think Will's decided already though."

"Has he?"

He put a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. For once, there was no artifice to Allan, and seeing him like this was strange, but also reassuring.

"Listen, it's not for me to tell you what to do, yeah? But Will's right. You can't stay here. This is no place for a family.

"And yeah, I know this feels like home sometimes, but it's not the same. Not for you."

He gave her a crooked grin. "Don't think you're getting away from me though. Wherever you two are, I'll find you."

Djaq managed to return his smile, her despair forgotten for a fleeting moment. "I think you mean it."

Allan laughed and reached for her hand. He pushed a soft shape into her palm, and it took a moment for Djaq to realize it was a purse.

"I thought you might need a bit of money. For when you leave."

Djaq shoved the purse back at Allan reflexively. "I don't need—we don't need this."

He looked stricken. "It's not stolen or nothing." He offered the money again. "It's my wages from when I worked for the Sheriff. Or what's left of it."

She said nothing, her mind still repulsed at the idea of taking Allan's blood money.

He chuckled. "I guess it's about the same as stolen. But in an honest way."

Djaq acknowledged the irony with a smirk. "I still can't take it. You might need it yourself."

Allan pondered that for a moment. "Fine. You take half, then." He tipped the purse out, and stuffed some coins into his pocket, giving Djaq the rest. "Just take it, will you?"

She fought against the urge to refuse again, realizing that the others were still there, awkwardly trying not to hear or see.

"Fine." Djaq pushed the purse deep into a pocket. "You should get going. The others will want to be on their way."

She watched as Allan took stock of his travel companions. He clucked his tongue. "I'm off on this great adventure. And look at the people I'm going with."

"I'm sure they will be fine, Allan."

"It's not them I'm worried about. Not bein' funny-"

"You never are."

He raised an eyebrow at her, the expression dissolving into his usual grin. "Don't miss me too much."

"It will be difficult," she added, only half in jest. "But I will try. Now go."

They had said all the words that needed saying, and Djaq sent him on his way with a quick embrace, a peck on the cheek and a silent prayer to his God and hers to keep him safe. It wasn't until he'd walked off into the distance that the tears finally came.

-00-

Just like that, Allan was gone. It was inevitable in a way that things in the forest would change, that they would lose their friends, to war, to time, to life. But Allan was the reason she and Will had come back, even if they'd never spoken explicitly of it. All the while they'd been away, their thoughts had turned to their old friend, and they'd worried over his return to Robin's side and what temptation might throw in his path again. They'd been delighted to see him again, knowing that he was changed but still very much _their_ Allan. And now he was gone.

It took her a long while to come back to herself, and Robin watched her now, his face a mask of concern. Djaq scrubbed at her eyes, embarrassed at the show of emotion. She brushed off Robin's attempt to console her. "I am alright."

He nodded, looking uncertain. Djaq gave him an apologetic smile. "I am sorry. I did not mean to be...as I've been today."

He scoffed, dismissing the apology. "So, are you headed back to Newstead now?"

"No," she said, without hesitation. "I need to write those letters we spoke of before. And then, I may go to..." She stopped short, not wanting to flaunt her happiness and wound the man before her.

Robin guessed at the rest anyway. "Torloton?"

Djaq smiled, sheepish. "Am I that obvious?"

"No," he chuckled. "Just making an educated guess."

She shuffled her feet, the conversation as awkward as any she'd ever had with Robin, and with good reason. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to-"

He held up a hand and stopped her. "You don't have to be sorry for me. I don't grudge you—or Will—your happiness, you know."

"I know." They stared at each other for several minutes, and Djaq willed Robin to understand. At length, with no words left to say, he nodded in her direction and stepped away.

She called out to him and waited until he turned. "You'll find it again, you know."

"What?"

"You may not find again exactly what you've lost. But there is still joy in this world, and I pray Allah will grant you your share."

When he spoke, his eyes were sad, his voice weary. "Pray instead that we get our king back, that justice is done. That matters more to me than joy."

-00-

Will heaved the wooden beam over his shoulder to pass it to Matthew, squinting to see better in the darkness of the cave. They were done with the coin chests Robin needed, and Matthew had since cut notches into an inner wall deep in the cave. Will had the idea of building a storeroom for the root crops, fruit and cheese the gang had accumulated over the summer months. This part of the cave was dry and out of sight, and it made a better hold for their food than the abandoned barns and storehouses Robin favored.

He was glad to have a task at hand, to keep his mind from turning to other things. But it was a struggle, and at length, he gave up and let his thoughts turn to Allan's departure. At first, he'd wanted to go with his friend, bid him a proper farewell with all the others, but when the time came, he changed his mind. What needed to be said had been said, and the rest would just be bluster on both their parts. More than that, Will could not say goodbye. It was too final, like the last nail in the coffin of his life with Allan. For all of the man's misdeeds, and for all his own anger, he was not ready to bury their friendship, not yet.

_Still, Djaq will miss Allan too, and I should have been there for her._ That sobered him, a reminder that he was not alone, either in joy or misery. He sighed, glad he was at least meeting her in the old camp later.

Matthew caught the sound and gave him an odd look. "Are you alright?"

Will frowned at him. "Yes. Never mind me. Are the shelves in?"

Matthew retreated, muttering about notches not cut deep enough. Chuckling, Will followed him into the cave. They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes before Matthew spoke.

"So, do you ever wonder?"

Will raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"About whether we're really helping people." Matthew scratched his head. "What if we're wrong? What if Robin's wrong?"

Will frowned, sensing a shadow of his own doubts in Matthew's words. "Wrong about what?"

"About everything. About...justice." Matthew stood abruptly and began to pace the width of the cave. "How can we do justice, if we're just as bad as everyone else?"

"What?"

"We steal, just like the Sheriff does. Only difference is he calls it a tax, and we don't!"

"It's not the same. We don't do what the Sheriff does. We don't steal from the poor-"

"Don't we? When was the last time we asked a man if he was a peasant or a landlord?" Matthew's voice shook with his growing frustration. "Last month, Allan took a purse off a nun!"

Will snickered at that. It was true that Robin and his men were not very discriminating about the travelers they robbed. But they never kept any money for themselves; every last penny went to helping others, and was that not a good thing? Then again, things had changed for Robin's band of outlaws. Now they were the king's soldiers and the coin they raised would go straight to the king. His eyes fell on the wooden chests he and Matthew had made to collect the king's ransom. The poor won't be seeing any of the money...what are we still doing here?

He gave Matthew a frank look. "Listen. It doesn't matter if Robin is right. Or if the king is right. What matters is that we help, that people are better off with us than without." He pondered for a moment. "You don't even have to be here to help, in the end."

"We are Robin Hood and all that?"

Will laughed. "Yes. Just so"

-00-

Djaq watched Will peel off a long strip of dried bark from one of the wall posts of the old camp. They sat close, but his mind was miles away as he turned the wood over in his hands.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just thinking." Will swung the bark out and it arced away from him gracefully. "My dad, he used to make angles out of bark like this. For me and Luke." He chuckled as he threw the wood away. "Dad taught us to fish, but Luke always caught more than me."

"I see." It was odd to hear Will speak of his family. As long as Djaq had known him, as well as she knew him, his own stories remained hidden from her. "Tell me more."

He gave her a blank look. "There's not much to tell."

Djaq sighed and took a different tack. She brought his hand to her belly. "Maybe you can teach your own son one day."

That got his attention. He colored a bit and then ducked his head, almost embarrassed. "That would be..." He arched an eyebrow at her. "You know we're having a boy?"

"No. But the child is either a girl or a boy. So I'm half-right."

He laughed, a good sound that echoed through the camp and warmed her heart. "So. Have you thought of names yet?"

Djaq frowned. "You know, among my people, children are not named until after their birth."

He knit his eyebrows, intently focused on her. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Some superstition. But the choosing is of no consequence anyway. A boy is named for his father's father, and a girl for her father's mother." She took his hand and smiled. "So if this babe is a boy, he'll be called Dan."

He grinned, but the expression fell away quickly. "And what about your father? Your mother? Don't you want to use their names?"

Djaq shook her head. "That is not the way of things." She thought of her brother, of how it would have been his privilege to name his children after their parents, and how his life, his children, his bloodline, had been sacrificed to steel and fire. She felt a sharp pain her throat and had to swallow hard to dispel it. "They will have to be remembered in some other way."

He wrapped his arms around but said nothing, and she was glad for his silence. This grief, the one lasting regret of her life, was hers alone, and Will seemed to understand that.

They sat that way, in companionable silence, watching the sun go down through the broken slats of the camp roof. At length, Will stretched out his long legs. "Do you want to just stay here tonight? I mean, if you're tired-"

"That would be good. But at first light, I have to go." She shuffled her feet, rushes crackling under her boots. "I need to speak to Gisborne."

Will stiffened. "Djaq, I don't think..." He didn't finish the sentence, but his meaning was clear enough.

She bristled. "I need to learn a few things, Will. Robin needs to."

"Fine. I'll come with you."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

This time, there was no protest. Instead, Will drew her gently into his arms, and whispered into her hair. "Just be careful. Alright?"

"Alright."

-00-

Djaq pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face and stuck as close to the walls of the tavern as possible. She had the odd sense of being followed, but she could not spot her pursuer. At length, Djaq decided she was imagining things. Will had put worry in her mind and it was beginning to prey on her better judgment. She ducked into the darkened tavern and cast an eye about for Gisborne. He was nowhere to be seen, but the cowled monk who was often in his company beckoned her over.

She hesitated, as wary of him as he might have been of a _mullah_. But his demeanor was polite, his smile welcoming. As she approached him, he rose and moved off into the shadows, beckoning her to follow. Confused, Djaq hesitated at first, but a pointed look from the tavern keeper convinced her to follow. The monk stopped short near a back wall, well out of sight of others in the room. Will's words of caution rang in her ears, and she bent her knee a little, until she felt the nudge of her dagger's leather sheath on her calf. Reassured, she nodded in his direction as she joined him.

"Brother Tuck."

He inclined his head politely. "I apologize for the mystery. And the darkness. There's a small problem."

"Where is Gisborne?"

"That's the problem. Sir Guy believes he's been seen, and that compromises his plans." He raised an eyebrow. "And perhaps yours as well?"

"My plans are of no consequence. I come because I was promised information."

"And you shall have it." He took in a deep breath and launched straight into it. "Longchamp is delayed."

"Delayed."

Brother Tuck nodded. "Aye, and not for pleasant reasons. Longchamp is a man of God, and a man of power. So he has enemies."

"Like the Sheriff?"

"Yes, but also others who are less...worldly, but more capable. There are others in the Church who favor Prince John over the king, and they do not take kindly to Longchamp interfering with their plans.

"We believe he goes to France, and probably in disguise. At last count, he was in a party of monks traveling south from York."

Djaq's mind began to spin. A wealthy man traveling with a retinue through the forest was easy enough to waylay, but a party of monks was a different story. And what if Longchamp changed his disguise along the way? Robin would need to have his men all over the forest, blocking every route and ambushing every traveler.

Djaq knitted her eyebrows together, trying to focus. "And what of the money? A man dressed as a monk but carrying a king's ransom would surely draw suspicion."

"We believe he may have deposited elsewhere. In an abbey church, or perhaps as a promissory note with merchants. Perhaps even here in Nottingham."

"With the idea of collecting it as he passes through?"

"Perhaps. I cannot say for certain. I only know that Robin, indeed anyone on the side of the king, must tread carefully.

"Robin must find Longchamp, take him into his custody and ensure his safe journey to France, ransom or not. The man is at least as important as the money."

Djaq nodded, putting together the story as she'd present it to Robin. Perhaps the monks at Newstead would know this Longchamp's whereabouts, what he looks like, how to find him. Her mind began to spin, weaving possible solutions. What if he were not a monk? What if he were dressed as a different sort of man, or even a woman?

"I have to go. Is there anything else I should know?"

Tuck reached into the folds of his robe. "There is one thing. Sir Guy asked me to give you this."

She hesitated, unsure, before holding out her hand. A small object dropped into her palm, a ring with a green stone set in silver. Djaq frowned. "What is it?"

"I believe it once belonged to Lady Marian."

Djaq nearly dropped the ring in shock. It felt suddenly too heavy, too hot to hold on to. "Is this a joke? A cruel one?"

Tuck shook his head, his expression sad. "No. I think it's meant to be a gift. A token...of Sir Guy's remorse perhaps."

"What am I supposed to do with it?" The words came unbidden, but she knew the answer even as she spoke them.

"Give it to Robin of Locksley. Not now. But one day, when the time is right."

-00-

Robin paced the forest floor with such determination that he began to wear a rut in the dirt. Peter of Doncaster chuckled loudly enough to get his attention. "What are you so worried about anyhow?"

Robin glared at him and kept pacing, lost in his thoughts, which turned to king and country, but mostly to Longchamp and money. They'd find the man, of course. He was certain of that. But when Djaq had stopped by earlier and told him that Longchamp traveled in disguise, and perhaps with no money, a shadow of doubt fell on his plans. Even if they had the money, how would they manage to get it to France without being waylaid themselves? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Men like Peter, who seemed more his shadow now than even Much, did not make things easier.

Peter persisted. "Are you worried we might not have all the right information?"

Robin stopped and narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know, like your Saracen, she's just telling you things she heard, listenin' in at keyholes." Peter shuffled his feet. "Unless of course she's not."

"What?"

"Don't you think it's strange? The way she just _hears_ things?"

Robin shook his head. "If you're asking if I suspect Djaq, I don't."

"Even if you knew where she'd been lately?"

Robin shrugged. "What my men do on their own time is their business." Robin drew himself to full height. "Why? Why all these questions?"

Peter's shrug mirrored Robin's. "Just thought she was acting a bit odd, like. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't up to nothin'." He gave Robin a pointed look. "Maybe just for my own sake."

Robin crossed his arms in a show of silent defiance, but he could not deny his curiosity. Peter never said much, and if he was willing to take Robin down this crooked trail of thoughts, there had to be a reason for it.

"She's been going to this tavern, right? Out in Hartshead."

_Hartshead?_ That was outside the part of the forest Robin's men usually watched. Djaq could not have just chanced on the place. Still, this was _Djaq_. "So what?" Robin kept his voice measured, carefully indifferent.

"Do you care who she talks to?" Peter mirrored Robin's arm-crossing gesture, a smirk giving his scarred face a frightening twist. "I saw her. Not just once, but three times. With a man. A strange man, dressed all in black leather."

The hair on the back of Robin's neck stood up. _No. It could not be. He was dead! And even if he wasn't, Djaq would never..._

Peter shrugged, a gesture of innocence. "I didn't know who the man was, mind. I thought he looked... shifty, so I asked around.

"Turns out he used to live around these parts. Maybe you've heard of him. Goes by the name of Gisborne. Guy of Gisborne."

-00-

Djaq clambered up the hill, rolls of parchment rustling in her hands as she climbed. She was already a bit late for the day's second rendezvous with Robin. She would have come sooner, if Much hadn't insisted on joining her. He'd gone on and on about not having seen Robin in days, and resigned, she'd accepted his company. But Much had surprised her by being an engaging, even humorous, companion and when they arrived at their rendezvous, she was almost sorry the trip was over.

Much grimaced. "Dead Man's Crossing. Never liked that name."

She chuckled. "Why do they call it that?"

"I don't know. But I don't like it. Nothing good comes from names like that." He shivered as if to confirm the bad omen, increasing Djaq's amusement.

Much railed on. "I'm sure Robin picked this place just to scare me. He likes to do that, you know."

Djaq sighed. "Much."

Much shuffled his feet and lapsed into silence. Around them, the leaves rustled for a few seconds before silence, an eerie stillness, fell on the place. The name of the clearing made perfect sense in that moment, and neither of them broke the pall with words.

At length, Much waved his hands towards a path from the north. "Here's Robin now. And that other one, Peter."

Djaq smirked. "You don't like Peter?"

"No. And he has that scar. You shouldn't trust a man with a scar."

She thought of the horrible gash across Will's stomach, the one that had bled so much when she'd tried to sew him back together. Djaq swallowed and added in a small voice, "Honest men have scars too."

"Not on their faces they don't."

As the two men neared, Peter's twisted face gave truth to Much's words, and Djaq cringed a little, despite the gruesome wounds she'd seen in battle. But it wasn't just the man's face. His manner, his deliberate gait conveyed a sense of purpose, of danger, she was not prepared for. She took in a deep breath and walked ahead, pulling a parchment scroll out of her pocket.

"Robin. It's good to see you." Much's voice broke out over the clearing and the tension in the air eased somewhat.

Robin nodded a terse greeting in his direction and pinned his eyes on Djaq. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed. He was clearly troubled, and that was hardly surprising given their circumstance.

She held out the scroll, meeting Robin's eyes evenly. "The monks at Newstead did not say they'd heard from Longchamp. But they did not say they hadn't either. And they were not willing to tell me much else. The rest is here, I think."

Robin took the scroll in silence and shoved it into a pocket, his eyes still on Djaq.

Much scowled. "Aren't you going to read that? It might be important."

Robin ignored the question, his face a mask, prompting Djaq to speak. "Are you...alright?"

"How do you know these things, Djaq? The things you tell me."

A sudden chill came over Djaq and she pulled her cloak tight around herself. "People talk. I listen."

"What sort of people?" Peter's eyes were bright, his face a sneer as he spoke.

Djaq fixed him with a look of scorn. "It is not your concern, is it?"

"'Course it's my concern."

"Who are you?"

Peter pulled himself to his full height and took a menacing step towards Djaq, but Robin stopped him, pushing the man back behind him.

"I think the better question is who _you_ are, Djaq." Robin's voice was even, but there was an edge to it, as sharp as new-forged steel.

"I don't know what—"

Robin waved the others away, and they dissolved into the forest, cowed by their leader's anger. Only Much stayed, Robin's silent and morose shadow.

Robin strode towards her, and took her arm. His words were spoken in a desperate whisper. "Tell me, Djaq. Tell me it's not true. Tell me anything, and I swear, on my honour, I will believe you."

Djaq looked away, overcome with guilt she had not owned until that moment. She shook her head.

He let go of her arm, and in that small gesture, she felt the world tilt. Her bond with Robin had been marked by mutual respect and honesty, but now a rift had opened between them, a chasm of suspicion that could not be bridged without great effort.

"Robin, I can explain. I-"

He did not hear. "Gisborne?"

Much gasped. "Gisborne? Gisborne! No, it's not possible." But his disbelief fell on deaf ears. Robin ignored him, and turned his attention fully to Djaq. "Of all people, how could you even consider talking to him? Confiding in him?"

Djaq bristled. "Confiding? You have to know I'd never share a confidence with him. Indeed, if anything, he has shared his with me. With us."

Robin's face conveyed nothing, but his voice was icy. "How can you trust that whatever he's told you—these _confidences_—are true?"

Color rose in his face and lit his fury. "This is a man who tried to kill the king, and not just once. He killed…" His voice trailed off and he could not finish the thought, his face twisting in remembered agony.

The blood had drained out of Much's face. "How could you, Djaq?" His voice was barely audible, not an accusation but a plea for an explanation. "Of all people, him?"

Djaq closed her eyes, willing the words to come to her. "I saw no reason not to trust him. Everything he's said to me has been—"

Robin spat the words at her. "You forgive him so easily?"

She shook her head. "It is not for us to forgive, or condemn. That is for Allah alone." She struggled with her thoughts, for words to explain the inexplicable. "But no man is wholly evil who once loved, and—"

"Loved? Have you lost your mind?"

To this, Djaq had no answer. She believed in reason, in the cold logic of her own mind, and yet, she had loved and knew there was no greater insanity in the world. Gisborne's rage was that of the scorned lover, and Robin's that of the grieving husband. They'd all come to this pass because of love, and yet, the word—so short, so trivial—was inadequate to the moment.

Dejected, she sighed. "What does it matter? You have information you needed, and others have proven its truth already. I don't—"

"It matters, Djaq. It matters because you didn't tell me. It matters because you were dishonest with me." The implication of betrayal hung heavy in the air between them.

He turned away from her, a gesture of dismissal. A flash of insight came to Djaq, as white-hot and startling as a lightning bolt. "Are you sending me away?"

"What?"

"Are you banishing me? It is what you do to those who betray you, is it not?" She regretted the accusation, but the words were out of her lips, and they gave her the strength to stand before him, defiant and undefeated.

Much piped up, appalled. "No, of course not. You're—"

She put a hand up to silence him. "Robin. Am I banished?"

He scowled at her. "I cannot have those around me consorting with the enemy. This I cannot—"

"Am I banished?"

"I have to know that I can still trust you, Djaq!"

"That is not the answer to my question. Am I banished?"

There was warning in Robin's face, a sign that she'd pushed too far. But Djaq could not stop. She was impressing her will on his, and she was winning. So what if the victory was hollow and bitter. Again, she asked the question. This time, Robin wheeled on her.

"That—"

She persisted. "Am I banished? Tell me."

Exasperated, Robin flung the words at her. "Yes. Damn it, yes!"

"Very well." She gathered herself, moving with deliberate slowness, knowing their eyes were on her. "I wish you well, Robin." She lifted up her tag and smiled at him, even as her resolve weakened and her stomach threatened. "Never forget the outlaws."

Much's voice broke the tension. "Robin, do something! She's leaving. She's _really_ leaving." He was frantic, but when Robin turned and walked off into the clearing, Much panicked. "Master, you cannot let this happen. You can't—"

He ran after Djaq in the other direction. "Don't go. He's just angry. You know how Robin is. He'll come around, you'll see." He grabbed her arm and yanked, the gesture more powerful than he'd intended.

Djaq winced a little. "Much. Let me go."

He released her arm, horrified. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" He begged her. "You can't go. You just can't."

"I can't stay, Much. Not after all that, not just yet. If you ever thought of me as a friend, then let me go. Let me have this last dignity."

He frowned at her, reluctant, but knowing he had to let her go. "Where will you go?"

Djaq shook her head sadly.

"Promise me you'll be careful." He smiled sadly. "You know. For Will's sake."

She was tempted to laugh, but the thought of Will made her want to weep at the same time, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "May your Christian God bless you, Much, and your good heart."

He looked away, too moved to reply, and Djaq sighed and headed out into the murky darkness of the priory close.

-00—

Will set the chest down with a thunk, nodding at Matthew. They smiled at each other, acknowledgment of a job well done. Despite its hollow posts and side walls, the chest weighed enough to take two men to haul it. They'd set out early in the day from Torloton and made their way through the forest to the rendezvous point with Robin. They'd had to stop a few times to rest their shoulders and arms, and it was almost dusk by the time they reached their destination.

He was content with the quality of his work, and although he did not seek out praise for his craftsmanship, a tiny part of him relished the attention and took pride in it. More than that, he enjoyed the look on Djaq's face when he unveiled a plan or a structure she had never contemplated. It allowed him to be, even if only for a moment, king of the world around him.

He was missing her more than usual too. The feel of her skin on his had lingered hours after they'd parted that morning, leaving him frustrated and distracted. Only the chest, the task of transporting it to Robin, had relieved some of the tension. Now he just wanted it all to be over so he could fall into her arms.

They picked up the chest again, Matthew grunting from the effort. Leaves rustled under their feet, and in the distance, Will could just make out one of Robin's men stanching the campfire to avoid detection. As they neared the doused fire, Will whistled into the darkness, making his presence known.

Shapes came out of the shadows, ghosts at first, but after a moment, men with bows and arrows, Much in the lead. As they neared, Will could make out their faces, silent but worried.

He raised an eyebrow in Much's direction. "Is Robin not here yet?"

Much winced. "He—he's gone. I mean, not gone, really. He's just off to Newstead."

"Right. Well, here's the chest he wanted." He gave Matthew a quick smile and waited for a reaction, but none came. Stonefaced men stared blankly at the two of them, and for once, even Much was at a loss for words.

Matthew stepped into the silence. "It's pretty clever, actually. See, we had to figure out how to fill it with coin, but make it look like it was still empty." He flipped open the lid of the chest with a flourish, and then pulled out the plugs in the side wall and posts to reveal the hidden compartments inside. A murmur of interest went up, and Will could hear faint whispers, but nobody approached them. He scanned the faces of the men for clues, and belatedly, he noticed the one face he wanted to see was missing.

"Where's Djaq?"

A pall fell over the clearing, sudden and eerie. He turned to Much. "Where is Djaq?"

Much looked stricken, the blood draining from his face. "Listen, Will—"

Will could barely hear his words over his own rising anger, a rush of blood beating against his eardrums. He pounced on Much, nearly knocking him over. "Where is she? What's happened to her?"

Much scrambled out of his way, distraught. "Look, I'm trying to tell you. Robin…sent her away. They…they…had a row."

It took several minutes for the words to make sense to Will. "What? He sent her…away?"

Peter's chuckle broke out over the clearing. "Don't be so coy, like you don't know." He stepped in front of Will, shielding Much with an arm. "He found out, didn't he? About her and Guy of Gisborne."

Will's heart sank. It was too much to expect that anyone—especially Robin—would understand about Gisborne. A niggling voice in the back of his head whispered that Djaq had been wrong to even talk to the man. But Will ignored the voice, even as a hard knot of resentment began to form in his mind. Who was Robin to judge? Indeed, who was this Peter to cast doubt on Djaq? He drew himself to his full height, and stared the man down. "You. You have no business even speaking of my wife."

Peter did not back down. "It is my business, when it concerns the king. When it concerns fraternizing with the enemy."

"Fraternizing? What do you think she was doing? Dancing for him?" Will balled his fists at his side, trying his best to control his temper.

Peter smirked. "Doesn't matter what she was doing, only who."

Will let go of his restraint and swung hard at Peter, catching him in the jaw. The man went sprawling in the dirt as Will gathered himself for the next blow. Peter scrambled to his feet and tried to hit back, but Much shoved him away and turned on Will.

"Listen. It's not what you think." He took his hat off and ran a tired hand through his hair. "It's just…you know how Robin is about the king."

"The king? She was trying to help the king!"

"Was Gisborne trying to help the king too?"

"Yes." Will hesitated. "No. I don't know what he's up to. But Much, this isn't about Gisborne. This is _Djaq_. She's not a traitor. You know that!"

Much shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "It's not just about Djaq though. Robin worries about treason. He worries about the king. He—"

"The king? Think, Much! This is the king who left us in the desert to die.

"Do you know what the king's done to Djaq's home? What his men did to her family? To Bassam?" He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, the memory of acrid smoke and blood, the sight of Djaq's attacker. He shook his head to banish the vision. "Do you know what they nearly did to Djaq?"

"Will—"

"But she's always been loyal to Robin. _Always._" His voice broke as he spoke, and he could not choke out any more words. "And this is how he repays her?"

He closed his eyes, his anger dissolving in a rush of grief. He could barely keep his feet, and overwhelmed, he staggered a bit until Matthew reached out to catch him. He shrugged off the gesture and leaned against a tree.

"How could you let him do this, Much? She was our friend. She was one of us. Don't you see?

"And where is she going to go? She doesn't know anyone. She doesn't have any family here, no friends except us."

Much walked up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of comfort. "Locksley," he whispered. "She was headed that way."

Will shoved Much away. He was beside himself with anger and the anguish of Djaq's banishment. "I have to go."

"What? No. You mean to come back, don't you? You're one of Robin's men!"

"No, Much. No. I'm just Djaq's man now." There was only one thing left to do. Deliberately, and with as much strength as he could muster, he reached for the cord around his neck and yanked until it snapped.

"You tell Robin. He saved my life. More than once. And for that I'll always be grateful." He took one last look at his outlaw tags and then flung them at Much's feet. "But this is Djaq. He let her down once, and now again. And for that, I can't ever forgive him."

He stood up, still unsteady and tried to regroup. Nobody said a word or moved to help him. Methodically, he tightened his tool belt, checked the blade of his axe, and walked away from Sherwood forest.

-00-

The tall green man and his minions had won. They chased her to the edge of the forest, and when she looked back to see if she'd escaped them, they threw their heads back and laughed, the sound ringing through the trees. The desert spirit held out his hand, a silent command to follow him. She resisted, but he pulled and as he dragged her away, the forest disappeared into the sands of the desert and she had to shield her eyes from the blinding light of the sun.

Djaq startled awake. Matilda's shed was still dark, but outside, a new day was just beginning. Mist, she thought. In the forest, it covered everything, a ghostly veil shrouding the outlaws from the rest of the world. But here in the village, the mist was feeble as it rose, catching on the tops of thatched houses and low trees, and dissolving into the pale morning sky. Watching it, Djaq shivered, reminded of the tattered banners that had flown over the Sultan's camp. That was a lifetime ago, when she'd been a soldier, when her life had been dedicated to a purpose. Now, she was nothing.

What was her life if she were no longer an outlaw? For so long, that word—despite its harsh meaning of being outside the law, of being less than alive—had defined her and given her a place of honor and respect she never could have won in this land otherwise. Despite her disappointment with Robin, despite her need to provoke an apology from the man, she'd already decided to go back, to be one of his men again. She had dedicated herself to serving others, whether as a soldier on a battlefield or as a healer in an English forest, and there was nothing else for her here. _Am I to be just a villager, a peasant goodwife? _

Even as the words passed through her mind, she regretted the derision she'd attached to them. There was no shame in being an ordinary peasant, and even the most ordinary man could help his fellow man, after all. Her fingers went to her belly. She was going to be a mother, and surely this was a worthy undertaking in itself. She'd have a child to raise, one with a good heart and a good mind. And she'd have Will.

The tight coil of bitterness in her chest unraveled into a shaky thread of remorse. She cast a glance outside, at the solitary figure at the edge of Locksley's pond. Will had not spoken since they'd rowed the night before. She had thrown angry words at him, called him an impetuous child, and he had accused her of blind loyalty, reminding her that Robin would always care more about king and country and people like Gisborne than he ever did about them. When his anger ran out and when she'd shed all her tears, they'd had nothing left to say to each other, and Will had stormed out. Watching him now, she could feel his exhaustion, see the breaking strain in his body. He stood stock-still, shoulders squared in determination. She imagined the look on his face, the fire in his eyes, the set of his jaw, and she tried, from a distance, to discern his mind.

_Why are you so angry?_ Certainly, he'd suffered, but so had she. So had they all. Why did Will hold on to his rage when the rest of them had let go? After all, she'd lost her entire family, her way of life, her world, but she had faith it could be remade. Allan had fallen off the right path, but he'd walked a twisted road and found his way back, with no ill will lingering in his wake…

The words pricked at her, pieces of a puzzle trying to come together. It was her first look at a page in the book of Will's life she'd never read before, but it came to her now, a flash of unexpected insight. _I've forgiven the world. Will has not_.

In many ways, her life was so much smaller than it once was, but it had circled back on itself. She'd once been part of a family and lost it all to the cruelty and greed of mankind. But now, she had some semblance of that life back. She had hope again, for a better life, or at least a new one.

But Will's journey was a line that led ever forward. He did not look back because there was no solace in it, only pain at all he'd lost. He'd put distance-in time and place-between himself and the tragedies of his life, but the distance brought no peace, no resolution. He was still fighting, for them, for himself, for her. Will had given her all his hopes and dreams, but kept none for himself. It was time to return the favor. _I promised once that you would not be less than you are, and I'll keep that promise, no matter what._

-

Will watched the pond, his eyes narrowed. Every now and then, the surface would stir, an insect landing on a reed and scattering the water. He tried to make his mind focus on just the water, mostly so he wouldn't have to think, about Djaq, about Robin, about all the things he'd done.

His first impulse was to apologize, to take it all back. If Djaq's happiness lay in going back to the gang, then he'd go back. Pride was nothing in comparison. His world had turned on its head the moment she'd first touched her lips to his, and there was no turning back. He was hers to command, to will to whatever she wanted. And if she wanted to be Robin's man again, there was no other choice.

But doubt gnawed at him, complicating the simple, obvious answer. How could they go back to the forest now, when Robin suspected them—suspected Djaq? If he took back everything he'd said, what was the guarantee Robin could protect them? He hadn't saved Roy, he hadn't saved Dan, he hadn't even saved _Marian_. Will's faith in Robin, in that entire way of life, was broken.

He felt a sudden rush of feeling for Allan. _I wish you were here. You'd never let this happen._ Is this what Allan had struggled with, being left alone with his choices, wanting to go home but not knowing how? Allan's loyalty to Robin had defeated his fear of the unknown though, despite his knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. Will sighed. Maybe Allan was stronger, maybe he had less pride, or maybe he just had less to lose.

His thoughts wound their way painfully through his mind, and exhausted, Will dropped to his knees at the edge of the pond, making the water ripple and dance. His eyes caught Djaq's watery reflection, and it took a few seconds for his tired mind to catch up.

Will couldn't turn around, couldn't face her. A thousand words crowded on his tongue, but none of them were equal to the moment. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world so he could think only about her, say the things that needed to be said.

His eyes flew open when he felt her hand, so warm, so small, slide into the crook of his arm. Her touch compelled him to act, and when he finally met her eyes, he found no reproach, no disappointment, only concern. Will shook his head gently, dismissing her worry, and wrapped his arms around her, thankful that she understood, as she always did.

They stayed that way for a long time, until the village began to stir around them. Djaq let him go, and he laughed shakily. "So what now?"

She smiled. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Home. Wherever that is."

-00-


	31. Chapter 31: Remorse

_Note: This chapter involves characters (Ayesha and Daniel) originally introduced in Chapter 1, and last seen in Chapter 21. _

**Remorse**

Late May 1216  
_Reims, France_

Ayesha's hands shook as she pulled her surcoat close around her. The rain that had pelted the town for days on end had finally relented, but her life seemed more bleak than ever. Daniel was gone, entrusting her to strangers who did not inspire any particular trust.

The rain had made the road too muddy for travel, but when the carters were ready to move again, they would set off. They were traveling to Zaragoza, and from there to Al-Andalus, where she would be returned to her father. _As if I'm an old shirt he misplaced!_ She huffed in irritation, then adopted an indifferent expression, not wanting to give too much of herself away.

She looked around now at her traveling companions. At the head of their group was a man with sharp eyes set over a beaked nose and a cruel mouth. The others feared him, and he put Ayesha in mind of the husband of one of her older sisters. She'd never liked him either. The others were scarcely better and they stared at her as if she were a curiosity. One woman, an old crone, had smirked at her, and her eyes were far too knowing for Ayesha's comfort.

Although she ignored her, the woman nodded in her direction, and after a moment's hesitation, she sat down next to Ayesha. Reflexively, she moved out of the old woman's way, but a hand to her elbow kept her in place. The woman made a grunting noise and then winked at Ayesha, tearing off a hunk of the bread she was eating and handing it to her.

Ayesha took the food, surprised by the gesture, but the woman just shook her head and laughed. Ayesha had no idea why, but she sensed she'd found a friend, and made her gambit. "Help me," she whispered. "I can't do this."

0000

Daniel sat at a table in the alehouse, not eating. He ran his fingers along a worn groove in the wood. He'd planned it all out in his mind, and by his reckoning, he would be at the Norman coast in about ten days. He had enough money to pay for passage on a boat to England and the final stage of the path he'd been on for four years. He was so close to sweet revenge, he could almost taste it, a coppery tinge of victory on his tongue.

But anxiety stirred in his stomach. England was a vast unknown, and he had so little information about the man whose life he was about to take. He had a name and a possible location, and the rest, he'd have to discover on his own. For all he knew, his quarry might elude him, safe in hiding somewhere. Or he might be dead, but Daniel refused to be defeated. Surely Allah would not have allowed him to come this far, only to rob him of victory at the very end.

He was going to kill his father, avenge his mother's dishonor. But first he was going to see the man. For nearly his entire life, the word _father_ had been foreign to him, a distant apparition, a thing too remote to be known. Once he'd realized that every child had a father, he'd become curious about his own. But his questions were met with stony silence from his mother and sadness from his uncle.

Most of what he knew about his father came from the vague rumors that swirled around Daniel. His light eyes and fair skin, although not unknown among the Muslims in Aleppo, were still remarkable enough to invite scrutiny. Only their noble rank and the strength of his mother's personality had kept Daniel from being the subject of public gossip.

Eventually he'd decided that his father had died young, leaving him behind as a legacy of sorts. His mother's reluctance to speak of the man, Daniel put down to her immense grief. It was not until that fateful night in Baghdad that he'd learned the truth...

The sound of a hand slapping wood jolted Daniel out of his thoughts. An old crone loomed over him, her lips twisted in scorn.

"Are you mad?"

Daniel shook his head, confused. "I don't know what you-"

"The girl. We don't need her. We don't want her on our journey."

He sighed, finally understanding the woman. He put on his most reasonable tone. "Does it matter whether you want her? She needs to go somewhere, you're going there."

"You know nothing about men." The woman snorted. "And even less about women."

She crossed her arms and stared him down. "How do you know she will be safe? Because you paid a man?" She leaned so close that Daniel could feel her breath on his skin. "Will you be able to sleep at night, do you think, wondering what's become of her?"

"I...I don't-"

"Don't be so willful. Listen to what I'm saying. And what I'm not saying." The woman cocked her head and studied him for a moment. "Do you understand?"

"No."

"You will." With that, the woman turned and walked away, leaving Daniel to call after her.

"Where is she?"

The crone laughed. "She said you'd know."

0000

Ayesha sat in the barn's hayloft, staring at the sliver of sky that peeked out through a hole in the thatch. It was the first time since their arrival in Reims that the barn was neither cold nor damp. Indeed, it felt almost as warm as home, and she felt more content and happy than she'd been in years. She lay back on the straw and closed her eyes, exhaustion pulling her into the world of sleep. She slept fitfully and dreamed things she could not remember later, but by the time she woke, the sun had begun to set, turning her thatch peephole purple.

She frowned at it, letting worry creep back into her mind. Where was Daniel? Was he angry that she'd thwarted his plans? Had he left her to fend for herself? For all of his bullheadedness, Daniel was a kind man. Surely he'd understand why she couldn't go to Zaragoza, why she couldn't leave him in his hour of need.

_And yet..._

Daniel had made her no promises. He'd barely even acknowledged her friendship, much less admitted any tender feelings for her. _And yet, and yet..._

There were times when a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, when she looked in his eyes and saw more, a truth that made her believe they had a chance, that his gentler emotions could still prevail when he stopped pushing them into an untended corner of his heart. Daniel had built a fortress around himself. Its walls kept out whatever pain he was running from, but they also kept out joy, and she was determined to find the chink that would bring the wall down. If this meant braving Daniel's anger and disappointment, it was only a small price to pay.

She stood and dusted off her clothes, determined. But she was barely out of the hay loft when she heard boots sloshing in the wet muck below.

"Daniel?"

He shuffled towards her, but in the darkness, she could not make out his expression. He called out to her. "Are you...alright?"

To her surprise, there was no anger in his voice. Instead, he sounded relieved. She held a hand out to him, but as he staggered to her, she recoiled.

"Are you drunk?"

He lost his balance and fell on to his backside. "No." He tried to right himself, but ended up sprawled on the ground. "Or maybe yes. I didn't have that much."

Ayesha stared at him in confusion. "What happened?"

"Everything. Nothing." He laughed, a hollow and pathetic sound. "All I touch, all I want. It all ends up as nothing."

She tried to help him back to his feet. He shrugged off her help with a grunt. "Even you. I tried to send you away so you'd be safe. And even that didn't work."

"I'm sorry about that, Daniel. Truly. I just couldn't go."

He sighed. "I know. And I'm so sorry, Ayesha. I didn't think...didn't think how it would be for you. How dangerous." He swallowed hard around his words. "I'm a stupid man."

"No, no." She reached out a hand, and in the darkness, she stroked his cheek. "It's not your fault I'm so willful. You won't be rid of me so easily."

He took her hand away from his face, but held it for a moment before dropping it. "There are things I need to do, promises I have to keep. And other promises I can't make. Not now. Maybe not ever."

"I know."

"But I'm...not unhappy you're here, Ayesha."

"I know that too."

0000

A month later  
_Valery-sur-Somme, France_

It was all noise. The docks in the town groaned under the weight of goods and feet, and fishwives hawked their wares in rude, guttural tones that Daniel could barely understand. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Ayesha staring at the scene around her, eyes wide with awe. He smiled, amused by her despite his trepidation over his own plans and his worry for her future.

Ayesha nudged him. "Look over there." She stuck her chin out in the direction of a galley to the north, men swarming over it, loading bales and barrels and calling out loudly to each other. "They're too busy to notice. We could just sneak aboard and hide."

Daniel gave the ship a long look. Stowing away was a good way to travel. He'd done it before, and on a big vessel with several hands and passengers, it was easy to travel unnoticed. But Ayesha would attract too much attention, and Daniel did not fancy getting caught and thrown overboard before he reached England. He decided not to alarm her though.

"It's not a bad idea. But it might be better to pay our way on instead." _Safer, certainly._

"We don't have any money, do we?"

He shrugged. "I could always sell my tools."

She gasped and he gave her a wan smile in response. "Won't be needing them where I'm going."

Ayesha frowned, brows knit together. "Maybe there's another way. It's a galley. We could help row it."

"They have oarsmen for that. Besides, they'd never let you row."

"No, but they might let you." Daniel saw a glint of mischief in her eyes, and before he could stop her, she'd pinched her cheeks to bring a bit of color to them and walked off in the direction of the galley. He had to run after her. Breath huffing, he caught up with her and tried to stop her. "Ayesha, what are you doing?"

She cocked her head to the side and grinned. "Something useful, I think."

0000

Ayesha's boots squelched against the wood of the docks as she trotted over to the galley. Excitement warred with apprehension as she approached one of the deck hands. Her question about the captain was answered first with a grunt and then a leer. She rewarded his scrutiny with a withering look, prompting a shrug and a dismissal. The others on deck took little note of her, walking around her and sometimes hissing in irritation, and once, even with abject fear.

Confused, and after failing to get any particular attention from the crew, she cast her eyes back towards the dock where Daniel stood, arms crossed, caught between worry and amusement. Determined not to look stupid in his eyes, she braced herself and headed straight for the heavy-set man on the quarterdeck she assumed was the captain.

The man was bellowing orders at deckhands, and at first, he did not see her. But as he walked backwards off the deck, he nearly crashed into Ayesha.

He startled and swore roundly before speaking to her. "What on earth are you doing here, girl?"

Ayesha put her hands up defensively, and mustered her best French. "Nothing. Or nothing bad. I just wanted to make a request."

"Aye, yes. So does everyone. Speak it then, and quick."

"I'm looking for passage across the sea to England." She pointed at the docks. "For myself and my companion there."

"Your _companion_?"

"Yes, we've been traveling together. From Reims." That was true enough, Ayesha thought, even if it was not the entire story. She cast her eyes down and tried to look demure. "It would not be safe for me to travel alone, after all."

The captain scoffed, not entirely convinced. He gave her a quick once-over and scratched his beard thoughtfully. "And how would you pay?"

She hesitated. "We could row the galley."

Her answer was met with a roar of laughter. "I have more men than I need for that sort of thing. And it's only two days to Pevensey, give or take a day. Not sure I need the help."

"Please."

The captain cast a glance back at the docks. "Will you let me speak to your…companion first?"

Ayesha frowned. "Yes. But why-?"

"Send him up here then. And you, you stay off the deck until I say otherwise."

She nodded, feeling like she'd just been scolded, without understanding why."

0000

Daniel watched Ayesha walk off the deck and back toward him, a frown on her face. He raised an eyebrow at her and got a sad shake of her head in response.

By the time she reached him, the frown had been replaced by a thoughtful half-smile. "He wants to talk to you."

"Who? The captain? Why?"

Ayesha shrugged. "You don't have to talk to him. No sense begging. We should try something else."

Daniel switched his attention to the galley, where the captain stood on deck, waiting. "I'll go talk to him. It doesn't hurt to try."

He bounded up the gangplank, trying to look confident. He was barely on the deck when the captain pulled him up by the collar. He gave Daniel a sharp look.

"You want to tell me the truth, lad? And not just the story your lady friend gave me?"

Daniel kept his thoughts to himself, not sure what sort of tale Ayesha might have spun. The captain was not too bothered by his silence though.

He set Daniel back on his feet. "I'll tell it to you straight. The girl's well-born and you're not. You're obviously on the run, and her father's probably coming after you."

Daniel opened his mouth to explain but quickly shut it, realizing his version of the story would make no sense.

The captain's look softened. "I don't care what you're up to. I was young once, and I've done stupid things in my time. But I can't have a maiden on board. There's a fear among the sailors, lad, that a maiden brings bad luck.

"So if you're married to the girl, I'll let you on board."

Daniel shook his head. "No, she's not my…I mean, we're not—"

"Let me say it again. If you're married, you can come aboard the ship." He spoke the words slowly, and Daniel finally caught on.

"Alright then. I'd like to come on board. With…my wife."

The captain chuckled. "There you go." He reached into a pocket and withdrew a battered old coin. "Go buy the girl a ring. Makes your lie a better one."

"No. I can't pay you back."

"Think of it as a gift then. A _wedding_ gift."

Daniel held out his hand for the coin, shame and guilt making his fingers shake.

"We set off at dawn, mind."

Daniel nodded and walked away as the captain waved genially to Ayesha at the docks. She smiled back, but shot a confused look at Daniel.

He shrugged and handed her the coin. "Go buy yourself a ring."

"A ring?"

"Yes. So everyone will think you're a married woman."

"Ah." She closed her palm around the coin. "Married? That's nice," she added with meaning.

Daniel avoided her eyes. "It's only a pretend marriage, Ayesha. Don't get any ideas."

She laughed and wandered off towards the town. He stared after her, trying hard not to imagine her as his real bride.

0000

The galley rocked a little, but the sea was calm. By the captain's estimate, they were about halfway across the English Sea, helped along by a northerly current. The galley had made good time during the day, and now the captain was content to boat the oars and give his crew a bit of rest.

On the deck, safe behind a stack of barrels, Daniel slept, his long frame stretched out over almost the entire space. Ayesha sat next to him, hugging her knees close and watching him.

It was not, of course, the first time she'd ever paid close attention to him. She'd watched him sleep many times. It was the only time in a day when he seemed at peace with himself, when the anger fell away and he looked like the lost young man he really was. She could see the real Daniel at times, as if there were a window into his mind that revealed itself only when he was asleep.

Besides, he was beautiful, and studying his face at close range was no chore. On an impulse, she raised a finger and began tracing the contours of his face, first his cheekbones and then his forehead. He began to stir and she stilled, waiting until he shifted and fell back asleep. She let her fingers trail over his face to his neck. At the open collar of his shirt, she paused and considered whether she'd gone too far. But he was still fast asleep, and her curiosity had won over her good sense a long time ago. Deciding no harm would come of it, she let her hand wander further south over his collarbones until her fingers came to rest over his beating heart.

Daniel's eyes flew open and filled instantly with alarm. He jerked away from her, horror on his face as he pulled the collar of his shirt closed. "What are you doing?"

Ayesha looked away, chastised. But when the silence grew too long, she murmured, "I don't know. I was just…curious."

He gaped at her, as if she'd just confessed a horrible sin. She felt a familiar prickle of defiance. "I did nothing wrong." He said nothing, but his expression remained, and Ayesha tried to deflect her guilt. "We're on this journey together, and everyone thinks we're married." She reached out and touched his shoulder.

He swatted her hand away. "Ayesha! Stop being a child." He spat the words at her, and she recoiled as if he'd struck her.

He seemed stricken too, as remorse crept into his face. His shoulders slumped, and he raked his fingers through his sweat-matted hair. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be angry with you. I told you before, there's no future for you with me. I can't give you what you need. I can't promise you anything."

"I don't want a promise. I don't need anything, Daniel." Thinking she'd spotted a chink in his fierce armor, she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his cheek, savoring her moment of victory when he leaned into her. But a moment later, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her gently away.

"Please. I need you to understand. This is what happened with my mother. My father played false with her." The words came out in a rush, as if he'd thought them a thousand times. "He enticed her somehow, and then, at the first sign of a child, he abandoned her."

His eyes were wild, full of fear and barely repressed rage. "I won't do what he did, Ayesha. I'd rather die than be anything like him."

(TBC)


	32. Chapter 32: Charity

**Charity**

_Locksley_

_Late July 1195_

Djaq stood in the middle of Matilda's cottage, contemplating her clothes. She had no idea how it had happened, but almost overnight, the child had made its presence known. She huffed in frustration as she tried to bring the ends of her trousers together at her waist, but it was a tight fit. Between worry over the child's discomfort and certainty that the ties would eventually snap, she gave up. The pants would probably stay on without the ties for a while, but she didn't want to risk having them fall off while walking through half of England.

In the corner of the room, Matilda chuckled. "That's the thing with babies. They don't stay secret for very long." She scratched her chin thoughtfully. "Wait here. I might have something for you."

She returned with an armful of coarse brown cloth.

Djaq gaped at her. "I can't. It wouldn't suit me."

"Nonsense. That's the whole point. It suits everyone." She held out a linen shift. "Get out of those clothes and put this on, and the dress over it. It will suit a damn sight better than your clothes do now."

Djaq held the shift up to her body, feeling nervous and out of her element. "You're much taller than I am. It won't fit."

"Lucky for you that's not my dress then." Matilda sidled out of the room, admonishing Djaq to hurry up.

Reluctantly, she stripped off the practical and shapeless clothes she'd worn for so long. They'd been a second skin, her suit of armor, and to shed them now was wrenching. When she'd lost her family and her way of life, she'd buried Saffiya by setting fire to her clothes, ritually laying the innocent girl to rest forever. And now she'd have to bury Djaq as well, so the outlaw could give way to the goodwife. _But who am I now? _

When the thought became disturbing enough to overwhelm her reason, she shook it off and slipped the linen shift over her head. The fabric was soft against her skin and clung to her body, but without restricting her in any way. It reminded her a little of the clothes she'd worn in Bassam's house not so long ago, but also of the way she'd dressed as a child. A note of Saffiya's old life came back to her and she clutched the dress closer, feeling a sudden pang for her lost childhood. But under her fingers, she could feel only the roundness of her own breasts and the curve of her own hips, a woman's body. The girl she'd once been was gone forever.

Sighing, she pulled on the dress and let it fall over the shift. The cloth was well-worn but still whole. The wool had softened over the years, and though it was thick, it was not as coarse or stiff as she had expected. The sleeves were too long, so she rolled them up to keep them out of the way. The hem of the dress only came to her ankles, however, and hiked up even further once she pulled her boots on. _I look ridiculous. _

As she belted her sword and dagger back on to the dress, Matilda came back in, an eyebrow raised in surprise. "You can't wear that, you know."

"What? Why not? Because I'm a woman?"

"No, because only knights are allowed weapons."

Djaq was appalled. With a sword in her hand, she was equal to any danger, but unarmed, England was a vast darkness she could not traverse on her own. She shivered, and catching her mood, Matilda put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not as bad as all that. Just keep the dagger hidden under your dress. And keep your eating knife sharp."

Djaq took the woman's advice and pushed the dagger into her boot. She took off the heavy sword belt and stuffed the eating knife and Allan's purse into the pocket of her cloak. She felt awkward, like a new person, and nervously she looked at Matilda for a word of reassurance.

"You look just fine," Matilda said, with a studied eye. "You'll have to let the dress out when you're further along. You know how to do that, don't you?"

Djaq rolled her eyes. "I've stitched men before. A wool dress should be easy."

Matilda looked doubtful as she handed Djaq's old clothes back to her, clucking her tongue. "Nothing is as easy as it seems. That's the best lesson I've learned in all my years." She gave Djaq a long look. "Where will you go?"

Djaq hesitated, not wanting any light cast on her uncertain future.

Matilda shrugged. "Just don't be in a hurry to get there. Walk if you can, but stop if you can't. This isn't some contest you have to win." The words were simple enough, but there was something in Matilda's eyes that suggested concern, problems more serious than any Djaq had considered. She raised an eyebrow at the older woman, but Matilda did not elaborate. She helped Djaq roll up her old clothes into a neat bundle.

"Best be on your way then. Wherever you're off to, I'm sure it's a long way."

Djaq hoisted the bundle, just as a small object fell out of it with a plunk. Matilda picked it up, curious.

"Yours?"

Djaq took it from Matilda and studied it for a moment. "I meant to give it to you, actually. Please, if it's not too much trouble, could you make sure it gets to Robin?"

"A ring?"

"An apology."

"From you?"

"No. Robin will know. Tell him..." Djaq hesitated, searching for the right words. "Tell him, in the end, his good deeds will matter more than his vengeance."

–00-

Will stood in the doorway of his old home, trying to make sense of his emotions. It was hardly the first time he'd left Locksley, but the other instances had given him no chance for reflection. This time was different. He was certain they were never coming back.

He reached out, his fingers grazing the door post before he flattened his hand against the wood. It was smooth under his skin, warmed by memory as much as by the sun. Snatches of his old life came back to him, Luke's fat baby legs, the smell of fresh rushes on the floor, the sound wood shavings made when they were swept away. He held on to the feeling, burning it into his heart. And yet already, he could not remember the exact timber of his father's voice, the color of his mother's eyes.

Will wanted to go into the house, to lay claim to it one last time. He pressed against the door, willing it to open, but it was barred and after a final effort, he gave up, leaning heavily against it. Without warning, the door gave way and he toppled through it and onto the floor. When he looked up, it was into a young woman's startled face.

"Will Scarlett?"

"Eleri."

She helped him up and gave him a curious look. "What are you doing here?"

Will dusted himself off and gave her a sheepish smile. "I just wanted to see the place. I didn't mean to just fall in."

She hesitated. "Nobody was living here." He winced and she caught the expression and tried to take back her words. "I mean, it was empty, and we didn't think that-"

"It's alright. I don't mind." He patted her shoulder, hoping to reassure.

She gave him a weak smile. "Oh, you should sit." She dragged over a stool and bustled around him. "Harri and my mum are in town for the market. But there's still some porridge in the pot, if you like. And I've got-"

"Eleri, stop. It's alright. I'm not here for your food." He looked around the small cottage. Most things were just as he remembered, even the stools and the table his father had made years ago. But there were touches here and there that were different, a sign of new blood. It made him oddly happy to know the house was lived in, that its tale would go on, even without the Scarletts. But that also meant their part in the story was over, that they'd soon be forgotten and he felt new grief claw at his chest.

She seemed to catch the train of his thoughts. "Of all the houses in the village, this was the one I really wanted to live in, Will. I remember that we used to spend all our time in your dad's workshop..." Her voice trailed off and she stared off into the distance, avoiding his eyes.

He laughed, partly to reassure her. "I remember you were always underfoot, trying to get Da to make you a doll."

She joined in his laughter. "He did too. Every year at Christmas, I'd get a new doll, and then I'd break it straight away and need a new one.

"Oh, and do you remember those honey cakes your mum used to make?"

Will nodded. He could almost taste the tiny morsels of sweet goodness now, the treats his mother could only afford to make once in a rare while, usually on Luke's birthday since he loved them so much. He sighed, wistful for the family he'd lost and the life he was leaving behind.

She caught his mood. "You miss them." There was no question in her voice, and there was nothing that needed to be said. "I miss them too."

The weight on his chest lifted a little. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe his parents, his brother, even Will himself would be remembered, at least for a while.

"Thank you," he said simply and Eleri nodded, understanding.

"You know," she began haltingly. "Once all this business is over, when Robin is back in the manor...if you want the house back, you can have it. I'd never-"

Will shook his head. "No. It's better this way. And besides, I don't think I'm coming back." He caught the look of shock on her face. "Djaq and I, we're leaving Robin."

Her eyebrows rose into her hairline, and Will remembered that nobody outside of Robin's gang knew that he and Djaq were man and wife now. He'd never felt the need to announce it, and now it hardly mattered. He shrugged by way of explanation and left it at that.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know yet. North, probably."

-00-

The cart trundled along the Great North Road, little more than a mud track after nearly a day of steady rain. The cart's wheel had become stuck in one of the deep ruts along the road, and in exchange for their help in freeing it, the carter had been happy to let them ride along.

Djaq nibbled on a heel of bread and leaned up against Will, their shoulders bumping together. She nestled against him, and sensing she was cold, he wrapped a long arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She sighed, pleased for the warmth of his body and the way he rested his chin against her hair.

"So where do you think we're going?"

"Not sure. The carter said he was headed to Newark." He hesitated for a moment. "And then maybe we'll go on to Scarborough?"

Djaq let the words sink in for a moment. Scarborough. Even the name seemed remote and unknown, and combined with the prospect of meeting Will's kin, the thought made her shiver.

"Are you still cold?"

"No." She tried to look up at him, but the angle was wrong and she settled for covering his hand with her own. "Have you told them? About us?"

He let out a long breath. "No. There was never a good time." She felt his calloused thumb as it stroked over her hand, his touch more certain than his words. "But I think Luke knew when he was with us."

"I think everyone knew, Will."

She felt his chest vibrate with silent laughter. "I guess it was pretty obvious. I wasn't very good at hiding it."

"You were good enough. I didn't realize for a long time."

"I never hid it from you. Not on purpose." He lapsed into silence and Djaq took the time to wonder when her own feelings had become apparent. It was hard to pin it to a particular day or time, but she had a vivid recollection of watching Will sleep, of noting all his features, the length of his fingers, the way his hair curled a bit at his neck, and of the strange new ache this scrutiny had left her with. She could barely look him straight in the eye after that. From there, her feelings had only grown to the point where she could neither ignore them nor really control them.

She turned in his embrace and brought a hand to his face. "You were very patient." She hugged his arms and turned to kiss him, but was interrupted by the carter's voice.

"It'll be night when we get to Newark. You two got a place to stay?"

Djaq frowned, pondering the question. This was not the best-planned journey and neither she nor Will had considered food or shelter. She chanced a glance at Will, but he didn't seem particularly worried.

"I thought maybe the church. They take in travelers, don't they?"

The carter nodded and called out over his shoulder. "True, you could try the priory, But, mind, with the market tomorrow, I'm not sure there will be room."

Djaq startled when Will began to chuckle, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he spoke. "So an inn then. One your _brother_ runs maybe?"

The carter looked over his shoulder and gave Will a sheepish smile. "My sister, actually. She and her husband, they've got this little tavern, see. The King's Cup. Tell her I sent you. There's a room or two over the tap room."

Will was still amused but managed to croak out a thank you. Djaq raised an eyebrow at him and then swatted him gently. "Very clever, are you?"

"Yes."

-00-

By the time they reached Newark, night had already fallen. The market was quiet, but people bustled about here and there, looking for food and lodging. It reminded Will a bit of Nottingham. He had seen plenty of busy market days as a lad, but since the Sheriff's arrival, the market had tapered off and they'd stopped going altogether after his mother's death.

He sniffed at the air, trying to hide the tide of homesickness that had suddenly come over him. "Smells like bread."

Djaq smiled. "Oh, good. I'm quite hungry."

Will chuckled. "We just ate though." The carter's name had been good enough for a hearty meal, but little else. The owner of the King's Cup had no room for them, not even a spare hayloft, and she'd reluctantly turned them out to look for another inn.

The priory was no longer an option. The day after the market was the feast day of St Mary Magdalene, and the priory's hospice was rife with pilgrims enjoying the church's charity. Will took her hand and led her away from the market square and toward the narrow street by the town's keep. The castle stood on the edge of the Trent and beyond it lay only fields and farmhouses. It was unlikely they'd find a place to stay outside of town, and besides, aside from the ha'penny he'd kept in his tool belt for years, they had no money.

He tried not to look too worried. "Maybe we should ask the church if they'll let us sleep in the yard. It's warm enough that we could just-"

Djaq shook her head. "There's bound to be an inn somewhere, love. This is a big place."

Will hesitated. "I know. It's just…well, I don't know how we'd pay for our stay. I suppose we could find one with a broken fence I could fix?"

She giggled. "Yes. Or we could just use this." She reached into a pocket of her cloak and pulled out a bright red pouch, jingling the coins inside.

He gaped at her. "Where did you get that?"

"Allan."

"Allan?"

"Yes, Allan." Djaq rolled her eyes. "It's like you've never heard the name before."

"I don't think I-" Will shuffled his feet, searching for the right words. "Where did Allan get it from?"

She sighed heavily. "He says from the Sheriff. His earnings."

Will balked and instinctively pushed the purse back at her. "I don't want that money."

Djaq glared at him and angrily shoved the purse back into her pocket. "Why? Because _Allan_ gave it to me?" She put her hands on her hips and stared him down. He met her eyes evenly for a moment before looking away, letting her win. She sighed. "I am tired, Will. Tired of you bringing up Allan's past all the time, and tired of whatever childish contest you are having with him.

"Allan is my friend. _Our_ friend. The next time you say his name, please let it be in friendship."

He nodded agreement, bristling a bit at the scolding. She began to walk away, stomping off like a small child. Amused and dejected in equal parts, Will followed her, dropping back to give her a chance to cool off. They walked on in silence for a few minutes before Djaq stopped in her tracks and wheeled around, exasperation on her face.

"Alright," she said. "Talk."

"It's not about Allan."

"No? Good."

"It is about the money though." He caught up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, making her look up at him. "Don't you see how dirty that money is? It's the Sheriff's money, and it has blood all over it. My dad's blood, Roy's, even Marian's. I can't bring myself to use it."

Will straightened up and added. "But I won't stop you. Allan gave the money to you, so you should do what you will with it." With that, he walked on ahead, giving her a bit of space to consider what he'd said.

He cast his eyes ahead, and in the distance, he saw a light flicker in a window as someone lit a candle. Most villagers and townspeople ended their day with the sunset and hardly anyone lit tapers after dark. But some work had to be done at night. Brewers malted grain at night, and bakers made up their barm at night as well. Before a big market day, they'd need to bake a lot of bread and probably wanted to get an early start. A sudden thought came to him and he grabbed Djaq's elbow.

"Are you still hungry?"

"Yes, always. Why?"

"I think we've found food. And maybe a place to stay as well." Djaq gave him a raised eyebrow and a look of doubt, but at length, she allowed him to lead her towards the lit windows in the distance.

-00-

Will pushed a strand of hair off Djaq's forehead. She was fast asleep and snoring gently, a frown on her forehead. She reminded him of a small child, and he was at once amused and worried. They'd finally found shelter in the manger behind a baker's cottage. The lady of the house had not been pleased to see them, but she'd let them stay in the end, even refusing the single ha'penny Will had in his pocket. Djaq had laughed afterwards, saying that she couldn't imagine anyone in Christendom turning away a carpenter and his pregnant wife, but it had been a long while before Will understood her jest.

Djaq had certainly earned a good night's rest. It had only been a day but it seemed like much longer since they'd set out from Locksley. He was not inclined to admit it to her, but Will regretted their decision to leave. Robin was wrong, and Will could not yet let his anger go, but he'd been rash and led them to an uncertain path. If their lives were scaffolding, then a corner post had come loose and they had no way to fix it.

He had no idea where they were headed. Scarborough was the best option, but he had no idea what Auntie Annie's situation was now, with Dan gone and with Luke to look after. Would she look kindly on her nephew and his wife or would she resent having two more mouths to feed? What would Djaq do? Would the townspeople treat her kindly, as Robin had done, or would they see her as the enemy, as he'd been seen in the Holy Land?

Questions chased around Will's mind, making his head pound. He let out a heaving sigh and Djaq shifted a bit at the sound. In the movement, he caught sight of the pouch of money Allan had given her, its red fabric taunting him. He hefted the purse and then dropped it quickly, sickened by its contents and his brief temptation.

Still, money was money. No matter where it came from, it still fed a man's hunger and put a roof over his head. If he wouldn't take Allan's money, the least he could do was get his own.

He'd have to find a job. There had to be someone in a town this big who needed a carpenter. A vision of shiny pennies danced in his head, and as his eyes dragged shut, he imagined that somewhere in France, Allan was probably having the exact same vision.

-00-

Djaq trudged sleepily alongside Will, her hand slipped into the crook of his arm. She couldn't decide if it was the dress or her belly, but she felt ungainly and didn't want to risk falling. She was not quite used to the scarf covering her head either, and had to resist the temptation to rip it off and give her head a good scratch. Her hair was longer now, and in the heat of the day, it sat on her neck and added to her discomfort. More than anything, she missed the comforting weight of the sword that used to hang at her belt.

Will too had left the long woodman's axe behind, knowing he would not be called on to fell any trees. To Djaq, he seemed incomplete without it, but with the hatchet and all his other tools still strapped to his belt, Will was better prepared for any scuffle.

It was just as well. All morning, she'd had the sense that they were being watched. They'd left the baker's manger with a heel of bread and a few pieces of dried fruit for their packs, but little else that might attract trouble. Still, travelers were easy marks for cutpurses and robbers, and Djaq would have felt better if she were armed and ready.

For now, she had to rely on Will to be her protector in a pinch. This was at once comforting and disconcerting. She knew he'd never let her come to any harm, but she was a better fighter and their success rate would be higher if she was the one with the blade.

Djaq kept these thoughts to herself, not wanting to alarm Will, but as they walked past

the fields they'd crossed the night before and into Newark's already bustling market, her discomfort grew.

Will must have felt the same, because he clutched her hand more tightly and gave her a worried look.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded and patted his hand to reassure him. "It's a new adventure, isn't it?"

The smile he gave her reflected more doubt than mirth. "Let's go. I think there's a shortcut," he said, pulling her along into one of the narrow streets between houses before she could really protest. They had barely turned into an alley, however, when things went horribly awry.

Will staggered and fell forward, pushed in the back by a shadowy figure who shoved Djaq against the wall and snatched the purse of coins before taking off down the alley in the opposite direction.

She gasped and tried to regain her composure as Will scrambled back to his feet. He gave her a quick look and after she reassured him she was alright, he tore after the thief.

Djaq leaned against the wall and caught her breath, taking inventory of her condition and putting a hand to her belly, silently willing the babe to be alright. There was nothing obviously wrong with her, so she went after Will, walking down the alley as quickly as she could.

She had almost turned the corner when Will caught up with the thief, tripping him and then pinning him to the ground with his forearm. He stripped the hood off the other man's head and Djaq watched as Will's expression shifted from triumph to incredulity.

"You," he rasped. "What are you doing here?" Will let the man go and they both slowly got back on their feet.

"You know this thief?"

Will gave her a helpless shrug, while the other grinned and held his hand out in introduction. "Benedict Giddens, miss. At your service."

Djaq gave Will a sidelong glance, amused. He did not find their situation quite as funny, however, as he scowled at the lad. "That's mistress to you. This is Djaq, my wife."

Benedict gaped at them. "Your wife? You're married?" He clapped Will on the shoulder in a friendly way. He seemed incredulous at the idea and shook his head in disbelief. Then, with a frown on his brow, he pulled closer to Will and whispered. "Is she not English? I mean, she looks...different."

Will glared at him, offended for Djaq's sake. She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "If you are curious, Benedict, you can just ask me. I'm from the Holy Land. I used to be one of…" She let her voice trail off, unsure if Benedict knew of their outlaw status, and reluctant to give him information he did not need.

If anything, the knowledge of Djaq's origins only seemed to increase Benedict's disbelief. "The Holy Land?" He turned his attention to Will. "You've really gone places, haven't you? Thought you'd still be with Robin, thieving and all."

"We don't thieve." Will crossed his arms and stared Benedict down. "But it looks like you still do. Didn't learn anything from the Sheriff nearly hanging you?"

Benedict was taken aback. "It wasn't just me stealing back then. It was your idea to take the flour from Gisborne's larder."

Djaq listened intently, realizing now the connection between Will and Benedict. If they'd been at the gallows together, why didn't this one ever end up with Robin?

Will bristled. "Well, I had my reasons."

"Yeah, we all know what those reasons were. You did it for her."

"Benedict!" Will's voice was loud enough to drown out any other words Benedict dared to speak. "Never mind about all that. Just give her back the money."

Benedict scuffed the ground with his boot and shrugged. "I would, but I don't have it."

"What?" Will grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and held him up against the wall. "You only took it a few minutes ago!" He shoved Benedict away in disgust. "Where are you hiding it?"

Benedict straightened his tunic and shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. I just steal the money and drop it off, see." He gave them a sheepish half-smile. "I'm sort of an apprentice thief, really."

Will glowered at him, and Benedict's smile fell. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't want to go to Scarborough with Dan and Luke, didn't want to be a burden. So I stayed here. But I never learned a proper trade. And even lads like me have to eat somehow, yeah?"

Will seemed unconvinced, so Djaq tried her hand instead. "You did not mean to steal from us, I see that now. But if you could tell us where you left the money, who you gave it to, we could find it ourselves."

Benedict shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. There'd be trouble."

Djaq sighed. "Yes, I understand. But you must try and see how dire our situation is. That was all the money we have." She smoothed the dress over her belly to drive home the point. She could not tell if Benedict was moved by their plight, but she could see the panic in Will's eyes. _Patience, love. We'll find a way._

"You could always find work," Benedict said, scratching his head thoughtfully.

"Oh, like you did." Will spat the words out like venom. "I didn't come all the way here to be a common cutpurse."

"No, and you don't have to be. You've got a craft, don't you? You were Dan's apprentice before we…well, before," he amended, nodding in Djaq's direction.

Will's gaze was intense, and Djaq thought she could see the wheels of his mind turning. His face brightened, and Djaq felt a small pang of remorse that work might excite him more than traveling with her did. "What sort of work?"

"Don't know for sure. They're rebuilding the castle here in Newark. Bound to be something for a carpenter to do."

-00-

Newark castle rose out of the side of the hill, craggy and dark against the sky. One of the towers had fallen down in the famous earthquake that wrecked Lincoln Cathedral, and a few other parts of the castle had fallen into disrepair. Will took it all in with a critical eye, his mind already churning with ideas. He squeezed Djaq's hand in excitement and pulled her along up the road.

At the drawbridge to the castle, a monk in soiled robes put an arm out, stopping them in their track. He held out a bowl, coins clinking together as he shook it at them. "For the priory, good sir."

Will raised an eyebrow, confused.

"It's a toll bridge. You have to pay to go through the castle gates."

"But we haven't got any money."

"None at all? Surely there must be a coin or two in your pockets." The monk nodded in Djaq's direction, urging her to help Will out. "Or maybe your lady can help. She looks wealthy."

"All I've got is a ha'penny, and that isn't-"

"Oh, that will do nicely. A man is meant to give according to his means."

"And if I give you all my money, what will I do?"

"The Lord will provide, lad. He always does."

He held the bowl out expectantly, and after several moments of hesitation, Will dug the ha'penny out of his tool belt and dropped it into the bowl. The monk gave him a smile and a low bow before waving them off down the bridge.

Will gave Djaq a rueful look. "Hope you're not too hungry. We don't even have money for food now."

She smiled brightly in return. "Oh, don't worry. We can always steal."

He laughed at the idea, and how it seemed so wrong to take another man's money, and yet, they had stolen coin and gold from many a traveler many a time. _And now we've had our own money stolen. By the Church._

At the castle gates, they were stopped by an armed guard. "Your business?"

"I, er, I'm looking for work."

The guard looked him up and down, then stepped aside, waving them through. Will stopped short, confused. "Er, who do I see about a job?"

"The master, I suppose."

"And where will I find him?" The guard shrugged and turned his attention back to the drawbridge. Djaq pulled at his sleeve, urging him into the castle yard, and Will followed, uncertain how to proceed.

They were about halfway through the courtyard, with the usual bustle of castle life around them. Horses were being walked to the stables as a pair of maids carried baskets of greens inside. There were fewer guards than in Nottingham, and more townspeople coming and going than Will remembered. But there was no sign of a master, or even of other craftsmen in the yard.

Another guard came up on them. "You lost or something?"

"No, I'm looking for the builder."

The guard glanced at Will's tool belt and nodded. "Inside, north tower."

They glanced up at the sky to orient themselves and trudged up a narrow path that led north. Inside the castle was a small courtyard where a tall man was giving instructions to two boys. From his stance, Will guessed this was the master, and after a moment's hesitation, and with a nudge from Djaq, he pulled himself to full height and approached the man.

The master nodded in their general direction. "A builder?"

"A carpenter."

"Ah. Looking for work?"

Will nodded, liking the man's direct approach. "If there's any to be had."

"Might be." The man held out his hand in greeting. "Godwin of York."

"Will Scarlett. You'll be the master then?"

"Not quite. The master is up in Lincoln, talking to the bishop." He smiled genially. "He's hoping they'll let him rebuild the cathedral there, so he has to be nice to all them lords and monks up there, see?" He chuckled, but as he caught sight of Djaq, his eyebrows rose into his hairline and he gave Will a doubtful look.

"Your woman?"

"My wife, Djaq."

She inclined her head politely, and Godwin returned the greeting, awkward and uncertain. "You have a man's name, Mistress Scarlett."

She gave him her most winning smile, and Will felt his heart swell with pride at her confidence. "In England, yes. But in Arabic, not always."

"Arabic?" The man shuffled from one foot to the other. "Well, that's new, isn't it?"

Will tried to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Er, about that job."

"Yes, yes." Godwin scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what. Let's get something to eat and we'll talk about it. The castle has the best bread in the town."

-00-

Will chewed thoughtfully, keeping an eye on Djaq's plate and making sure she had enough to eat. Godwin had been generous with the castle's food, but not very forthcoming about any work for Will. For whatever reason, and Will bristled at the notion that those reasons might be Djaq-shaped, Godwin had become leery of hiring him, and Will had no way to convince him otherwise.

"So," Godwin began, around a mouthful of bread. "You'll be a guild man, of course."

"A what?"

"A guild man. All the carpenters in Lincoln are in a guild. All the weavers too, and the wool merchants. I can't hire any man who isn't in the guild. It's the law. The guild pays for all the building work, see? I can't afford to go against their wishes."

This was news to Will. He'd heard of the guilds in other towns, but the craftsmen in Nottingham had never formed one, and it seemed unfair that a man not in a guild could not find work.

"How do I join one of these guilds?"

Godwin gave him a sad smile. "You can't just join. You have to be an apprentice and-"

"I've been an apprentice. My dad was a master craftsman in Nottingham. Taught me everything I know." Desperation rose bile-sharp in his throat. "And that's a lot." Next to him, he felt Djaq straighten up and cover his trembling hand with hers.

When she spoke, it was with a certainty that Will himself did not feel. "He's very good. I've seen his work. He can make something out of nothing. He's built great-"

"I'm sure you're a good carpenter, lad. But that's the not the problem. In Lincoln, you need a parchment that says you've been an apprentice, that you worked as a journeyman after that, and then you can join a guild. And even then, it's only if the rest of the guild invites you."

"What if I find someone who will give me that parchment? There's bound to be someone who'd do that."

"Maybe. But I think it's going to be hard for you." Godwin looked pointedly in Djaq's direction, and Will had to fight down the urge to hit him. He swallowed hard and glared at the man instead, thankful only that Djaq had not picked up on Godwin's prejudice against her.

Godwin shrugged, his sadness both genuine and useless. "I'm sorry. There might be other work you could do. Just not at the castle."

"Or anywhere in Lincoln," Will spat out, bitter and angry. "How do I feed my family? How do I keep them from starving?"

Godwin rose and made his way out of the kitchens. At the door, he seemed to have a change of heart. "Go to Lincoln. To the bishop's kitchens. There's a monk there that runs the place, Brother Matthias. He might be able to help you."

Will was still too angry to speak, so he nodded. It was left to Djaq to thank the man for the scrap of pity he'd thrown at them.

-00-

They arrived in Lincoln the next afternoon, dusty and tired from a trip in a merchant's wagon. In return for Will helping to load his goods, he'd let them ride with his merchandise, which had turned out to be live chickens on their way to Lincoln. The smell of the poultry turned Djaq's stomach and it was all she could do to keep that morning's meager meal down.

Still, it had saved them a two-day walk north, and with no money for food or travel, they could not afford to be too choosy about their transportation.

Will had been in a dark mood since their encounter with the builder in Newark, but he chose not to share his troubles with her. The worry over money and food she understood, but there was an edge to him she could not understand, and her effort to draw him out had been wasted.

Now, dirty and smelling like feathers and bird leavings, they'd arrived at the bishopric to see the man Godwin had told them about. She doubted he'd be any more help, but the English church had been charitable enough to provide them with food and shelter for a day or two, and she considered that was probably enough.

She nudged Will ahead. "Look, there's a monk now. Ask him where we're supposed to go." He shot her a dark look and grumbled under his breath before trudging up the monk.

"Excuse me. Where can I find Brother Matthias?"

"Depends on who's looking for him."

Will scratched his head in hesitation and Djaq had to nudge him again to speak. "I'm Will Scarlett. Godwin of York sent me."

"Well, in that case, I'm Brother Matthias. What can I do for you?"

They stared in confusion at the man, unsure if he was part of some strange jest. "You're really Brother Matthias?" Will croaked, prompting a chuckle from the monk.

"Yes, and I have been my entire life." He pulled at his beard. "Not my entire life, but near enough. But never mind that. What business does Godwin have for me?"

"It's actually my business. I'm looking for work."

Matthias nodded as if everything were now clear. "He usually sends men to me when they're in need of the appropriate papers." He surveyed Will carefully and was about to speak when he caught sight of Djaq. "Ah, I see."

"What?"

"You have not introduced us, Master Scarlett." He bowed theatrically in Djaq's direction and she found herself both amused and a bit frightened.

"This is my wife, Djaq."

"Ah, yes. Now I see."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Will bristled and Djaq put a hand to his arm to calm him. She whispered in his ear. "Hear him out, love. Let us see all this through."

She felt Will draw in a long breath and let it out, trying to release his anger. He nodded and shrugged off her hand. "Alright. But I don't think it's going to do much good."

"Oh, you don't know that. Not yet."

He gave her a watery smile before turning back to the monk. "So you have work for me?"

"Perhaps. For the moment, take a walk with me. I'll need help bringing the firewood in anyhow." He turned back to Djaq. "Mistress, if you wait here, I'll have food and drink brought out to you."

She inclined her head politely. "Thank you. You are most kind."

"Thank the Lord above, mistress. Not me."

-00-

Will walked along the narrow garden path to the woodshed, his sullen mood dissolving in wonder at the town around him. The bishop's palace stood on a hill between the half-repaired cathedral and the dark mass of the town castle. It was built to mirror the church's construction, and every now and then, he had to stop to take in a column or a window built to lancet points. To work on a building like this would be the dream of a lifetime, but he checked his excitement, knowing there was little hope he would get that chance.

Nothing in the world would induce him to admit to Djaq what he'd realized in Newark and what Brother Matthias would no doubt confirm. Nobody in Lincoln would hire a man with a Saracen wife. It was just as well, because he hardly needed to work in a place that didn't want Djaq. All he needed was to make enough money to see them safe to Scarborough and the rest would take care of itself.

"So," Brother Matthias began. "You're a bit young to be married, aren't you?"

Will shrugged. It was true that if he'd stayed in Locksley and been the village carpenter, he would not have married until he could provide a livelihood for his family. But circumstances had changed all that, and as far as marrying Djaq was concerned, he had no regrets.

The monk continued. "You understand the problem, don't you?"

"I understand. But I don't like it."

Matthias nodded in sympathy. "To be honest, neither do I. But it is the law and the church is bound by it as much as anyone else."

"It makes no difference to me."

"I thought you'd say that." The monk lapsed into thought and for a few minutes, they merely walked together in silence.

"I'm curious. How does an English carpenter find a Saracen wife?"

"By good luck." He could not decide if it was worse to lie to a monk or to admit being an outlaw.

Matthias chuckled. "You were in the Holy Land then? A Crusader?"

"No, just a carpenter. As I am now."

"So you travel across the oceans to make a livelihood and find a wife. Why come back here? Why not make a life for yourself in her land, with her people?"

Will met the monk's eyes evenly, feeling like he was in the right for the first time that day. "She has no people left. The Crusaders saw to that. They set fire to her house, killed her kin."

"I am sorry to hear that. Many a sin is committed in the name of our Lord." They were nearly to the woodshed, and Will now noticed a novice splitting firewood, and not doing a very good job of it.

"I could help with that. It's work."

"Yes, you could. But it won't last forever. If you can't find work that lasts, what will you do?"

"I don't know. Keep going north until I find something, I suppose."

Matthias nodded. "The Lord always provides."

"Does He?"

"Oh, you're a doubter now. Why?" Matthias challenged.

"Why? Because God's never been there when I've needed him." Will felt a sudden rush of anger. It descended on him like a wave, and he felt relieved that he could finally say these words, and to a man of the cloth at that. "Where was He when my father was killed? When my mother starved to death?" He swallowed hard against the lump that formed in his throat, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "They wouldn't even let us bury her in the church yard, because she died before the vicar could give her the last blessing."

Matthias closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I am sorry. What was her name?"

"What?" Will scrubbed at his eyes and tried to comprehend the monk's words.

"Your mother, what was her name?"

"Jane. Jane Scarlett."

Matthias clapped Will gently on the shoulder. "Come to Mass tomorrow. Find me afterwards. I'll see what I can do."

-00-

Djaq leaned against a tree in the castle courtyard, finishing her meal. A maid from the bishop's kitchens had brought fresh bread, some hard cheese and a flagon of ale. It was no feast, but it was just what she needed. She drained the ale, asking Allah for his forgiveness in breaking His strictures, and wiped the back of her mouth with the sleeve of her tunic, feeling suddenly very English. She laughed at the thought, until a memory of a day at camp came to her, a sharp reminder of what she'd lost.

She set the flagon down on the ground as a shadow fell over her, cast by the figure of Brother Matthias. He greeted her politely and then sat down on the grass in front of her.

"I should thank you for your hospitality, brother. It was very kind."

"The Church is charitable. Even when it does not have to be." He said the words meaningfully, but Djaq could not quite understand his motives. She set aside her discomfort, hoping instead to aid Will's quest to find work.

"We should also thank you for your willingness to help in the other matter."

"Ah, yes." Matthias stroked his beard, buying time. "May I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course."

"Does Master Scarlett profess your faith now?"

_Ah, now I understand._ "No, of course not."

"And you are not a Christian. So how do you come to be his wife?"

"We were married according to Saracen custom. It is done by contract and-"

Matthias held up his hand, interrupting her. "It is of no matter. In Lincoln, your marriage is not lawful."

"It is of no matter," she said, echoing the monk's words. "I call Will my husband and he calls me wife. Why should the town concern itself?"

"Because it was the merchants and the craftsmen and even the peasants of Lincoln who paid for King Richard's war. You can't expect them to look on a Saracen woman without ill will."

She met his eyes evenly. "Really? And what about kindness, your famed Christian charity?"

"Lincoln is best known for two things: money, and fair dealing in the making of it. But that does not mean the town has to treat kindly with someone once regarded as an enemy."

Djaq wondered what the penalty for attacking a man of the cloth would be as she faked scratching her leg to reach into her boot for the dagger. "Is that a threat?"

The monk seemed to gauge the direction of her thoughts. He backed away a few steps. "No. It is…information. I don't mean to be harsh, and I'm sorry if I give offense. But you should be aware of what you might encounter here."

She let go of the dagger. "I am prepared for all that. So is Will."

"I know." Matthias seemed resigned. "But you should know you disadvantage yourself, and your husband as well."

"What would you have me do? Hide myself away somewhere?"

"No. But there is another option." Matthias hesitated, wringing his hands before speaking clearly and intently. "You could renounce your faith, take the Christian one instead."

Djaq gaped at him. "What?" But Matthias did not repeat his words and Djaq began to laugh. "Another man once asked me to do the same."

"Ah, a wise soul, no doubt."

"No, he was a fool, but a good hearted one. His words were a kindness. He meant to save my life. You just want to take it."

Matthias sighed and put a hand to his head, trying to collect himself. "No. I'm not saying this as clearly as I would wish. I am a man of God, not a knight. My work is not to take lives, but to save souls."

"I am not in need of saving."

"Perhaps not. I was mistaken." He stood and paced for a few moments. "You care nothing for your own soul, but what of his? What about Will Scarlett?"

Djaq scowled, confused. "That is…I don't know. It is between Will and the Christian God."

"Yes, and I need your help bringing him back to that Christian God. I asked him to come to Mass, but he declined. Convince him to come. It will make a difference. I promise."

Her first instinct was to refuse. She and Will barely spoke of God and salvation, but she knew it was not something she could force. Still, the will of Allah could not be known, but it was always for the good, and surely the Christian God was no different. Djaq nodded in the monk's direction. "I will try."

-00-

They lay under a tree in the yard of the bishopric, wrapped in their cloaks. It was a moonless light, but clouds scattered across the sky hid the stars, casting a grey darkness everywhere. In Will's mind, everything was perfect, if only for a moment. In the quiet of the night, with only the sounds of crickets and the occasional owl, he could pretend he was back in the forest, and that all was right with the world.

Next to him, Djaq stirred. "So. Who was she?"

"Who?"

"The girl Benedict mentioned. He said you stole for her."

"Oh." He was glad the darkness kept Djaq from being able to see his face. He tried to deflect. "It wasn't a girl. It was nothing."

"Really? If it was nothing, why did you steal from Gisborne? For this nothing?"

He sighed. "Why do you have to know?"

"I did not want to know. But now that you are hiding it from me, I really would like to hear the story." He felt her curled fingers against his side, ready to tickle him, and he relented, if only because he didn't really want to wrestle her in public.

He swatted her hand away. "Don't be cheeky. I'll tell you. It was Alice Little." He murmured the name under his breath, hoping she wouldn't catch it. But Djaq could hear as well as anyone, and she caught on almost instantly.

"What? You were in love with Little John's wife?" She sat up in surprise.

"No! I didn't know she was Little John's wife back then." He persuaded her to lie back down and waited until she wrapped her arms around him again. "Besides, it wasn't like that. I wasn't in love with her or anything. I was trying to help her."

He felt a dull ache in his chest. All this had happened so long ago, but the wounds were still raw. "I'd seen her a few times, giving up food so her son would have more. I was worried she'd stop eating. That she'd end up like my mother."

Will swallowed down the lump in his throat. "So Luke and I, we set up traps in the forest, and sometimes, we caught fish in the Trent. Did it for months before we got caught."

"How did you get caught?" Djaq's voice was soft in the darkness, almost as if she were a child listening to a ghost story.

"We got greedy. I shot a deer, and instead of leaving it in the forest, we tried to cart it to town to sell. One of Gisborne's men saw us." He hesitated, not wanting to tell the rest for fear of reliving it. But next to him, he could feel Djaq's anticipation as if it were a real thing. "And my father lost his hand because of that.

"After that, Luke and I swore we'd never take game. But we thought we could steal from Gisborne's stores and get away with it. Benedict was the stable boy, and at night, when everyone was asleep, we'd sneak into the kitchen and steal food. We'd split up the grain and the flour and leave a bit at each house in the village. Nobody seemed to mind, and nobody told on us."

"But you did get caught?"

"Yeah. Still not sure how." He turned to face her, even though he could barely see. "I don't regret it. I mean, I wish Da hadn't lost his hand, or maybe they should have taken mine. But the rest? We had to do it."

He felt her fingers on his face as she cradled his cheek. "Do not worry, love. God forgives the sins of a man in need."

He removed her fingers gently. He had a good inkling where this was headed, and Djaq was the last person he wanted to have this conversation with. "Did that monk put you up to this? To get me to go to Mass?"

"Maybe." She shifted away a little and Will realized he didn't like even the bit of distance, so he reached out and took her hand.

"Listen, I'm not angry with God or anything. I just don't see the point."

"The point is to forgive, love." She rubbed his knuckles, her touch warm and soothing. "And what can it really hurt? You go sit in the church for a while, and afterwards, he helps you find work." Will thought he heard a note of desperation in her voice. If it meant so much to her that he should forgive and go to Mass, it was the least he could do. It wouldn't change anything in his mind, but it would make her happy, and that was reward enough.

"Hmm. Maybe I'll go. I can get a good look at all the woodwork." She laughed and Will decided that was the best sound in the world. "Will you go with me?"

She stopped laughing and he felt her fingers stiffen under his. "I…if you really want me to, yes."

"No, you don't have to come if you don't want to." He didn't want her to feel like she was disappointing him, so he tried to make light of it. "Just don't run away while I'm at church."

She pulled her hand away and chucked him gently in the shoulder. "You are not getting rid of me so easily, Will Scarlett."

-00-

The words of the Mass wafted over Will like the perfume he'd first encountered in the Holy Land. It was pleasant enough but remote and foreign, and it failed to touch him as it should have. Hymns and prayers were for Heaven and he wanted to stay as close to the ground as he could, where things made sense.

It was awkward being in a church after so long. He'd sworn the day they'd dug up the frozen ground behind the church that he'd never get on his knees and pray again. But here he was hiding in the back of the church, pretending to care about God. _If Djaq asked me to jump into the Trent…_

Presently, the hymnal ended, the bishop pronounced the blessing and the prior, speaking on the bishop's behalf, began the sermon. This part Will did not mind so much. The prior spoke plainly and in English about the importance of sacrifice, something the ordinary folk in the church could appreciate.

He took the time to look around. The cathedral was still a broken down mess, so Lincoln's feast day services were held in the priory's chapel. It was smaller but still bigger than any church Will had seen in his life. He cast his eyes upwards, hoping others would take it as a sign of piety so he could inspect the woodwork without interruption. The church roof was supported by wooden beams cut to just the right length and criss-crossing under the stone in a clever way that allowed the ceiling to be built higher than it would otherwise have been. He felt a fleeting moment of sadness that he dismissed with a shake of his head.

He turned his attention back to the prior. His voice droned on. "Today, in honour of Saint Alban, who sacrificed his life for the glory of God, we remember others who have made similar sacrifices. Martin Weaver, for remembering this church in his last will, William of Wyham, who was lost while herding his flock this summer, and Jane Scarlett, who sacrificed her life so that her children would live. In the eyes of the Lord, they are blessed."

Will straightened, startled by the sudden mention of his mother. Before he could absorb what had happened, the congregation stood for the benediction, and as the bishop blessed the gathered throng, Will looked up again, seeking an explanation, but predictably, none came.

Unexpected gratitude warred with his remaining anger, leaving him confused and out of sorts. He distracted himself by singing tunelessly with the rest of the worshippers until the service ended.

The clergy filed out of the church in a neat line, and as they neared the door, Will recognized Brother Matthias. He nodded politely in the monk's direction, mouthing his gratitude. The monk smiled, and as the crowd thinned and Will walked out the door, Matthias pulled him aside and pressed a scroll of parchment into his hand.

"I explained your problem to Bishop Hugh," he began. "He was…sympathetic." Matthias pointed to the scroll. "Tomorrow, go to Worksop with this letter and present yourself to the Earl of Chester."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I imagine he has work for you."

"Even though I'm not in the guild?"

The monk gave him a tight smile but said nothing else.

"Why would the bishop help me? Especially since…" Will let his voice trail off, not wanting to give voice to the church's bias against Djaq.

Matthias sighed. "I cannot say for certain. But Bishop Hugh is a generous man. He says that God means for us to be kind to one another, and that we do not reward God's love with meanness."

Will was not sure he understood, but he was grateful. "Thank you. For this. And the other thing."

Matthias shook his head, kindly dismissing Will's gratitude. "I wish you well, Will Scarlett. I hope the world is kind to you and your family."

"I hope so too."

-00-

Djaq ran as fast as she could along the edge of the forest, jostling the babe in her arms. It wailed as the tall green men bore down on her, firing arrows relentlessly in her direction. There was nowhere else to go, so she ran right out into the fields, chasing the desert spirit who beckoned her to follow him. Abruptly, the green men turned into a giant eagle that swooped down and plucked the crying babe out of her arms. She screamed for help, but no sound left her lips, and as the eagle flew into the distance, the desert spirit looked at her with reproach-filled eyes, tears streaming down his face.

"We're here." Will nudged her awake as the cart reached the little village of Worksop. He'd shown her the scroll from the bishop and explained that he'd need to see the lord of the village for work. But Djaq was doubtful. The village was small, dominated by a tiny church and a stately manor house that did not look like it needed any repairs. She detected excitement in Will though, and Djaq's skepticism and the awkward fear left over from her dream vanished in the face of his joy.

"I'm guessing this lord lives over there," she said, pointing to the house as she tried to slide off the end of the cart without hurting herself. Will gave her a hand and then held her up to steady her.

"Yes, although…." His voice trailed off and his brow was crinkled with worry.

"Will?"

"What would an earl want with me? Letter from the bishop or not, it seems sort of strange, doesn't it?"

Djaq nodded, allowing that it was strange but noting that although Will was worried, his eyes were dancing with excitement. "Well, there's only one way to find out." They walked on to the front of the house, where a squire was currying a war horse.

He gave them a curious look, but once they explained they'd come on the bishop's business, he showed them right in and asked them to wait. Will was impatient, shuffling his feet and worrying his belt with his hand, so she grabbed his fingers with her own and willed him to be still.

Djaq tried to take in as much of the house as she could. As they stood in the hall, she realized that the place looked almost exactly like Locksley Manor. _Is every house in England exactly the same?_ There were a few tapestries on the wall and a chest off to one corner, with crossed swords and the lord's crest hung above it. The furnishings were spare, dominated by a long table with a bench at one end and a large chair in front of the hearth at the other end.

Presently, the lord of the manor came to meet them. Ranulf de Blondeville was tall, even taller than Will, and he had flaxen hair he'd grown out to his shoulders. He was dressed in simple clothes but his presence suggested both wealth and power, and Djaq was instantly reminded of the Crusaders, those men who had ravaged her city and robbed her world of its innocence.

She shivered and dug her fingernails into Will's arm. He sensed her disquiet and put his hand over hers, but she could sense the strain in his body, as he bowed and waited to be acknowledged. This surprised Djaq. In all the time she'd known Will, she had never seen him extend such respect to anyone but Queen Eleanor. He had not even bowed to King Richard in the Holy Land.

"So. Bishop Hugh sent you."

Will nodded and handed the man the scroll of parchment. Djaq took the opportunity to move away a little and closer to the door, a ball of fear forming in her stomach.

Ranulf scanned the parchment quickly, glancing up at Will and Djaq a few times as he finished reading. "Ah, yes. It's good that you've come, Master Scarlett. I've been in search of a builder for a long time.

"Tell me, have you ever built a manor house?"

Djaq noted that his demeanor was pleasant if distant and Will seemed to have recovered his usual composure. Will was shaking his head and noting that although he'd never built a manor house, he had put together a large dwelling before, forcing Djaq to stifle a nervous giggle.

"A large home? Like an inn?"

Will hesitated. "No, not an inn. More like a...barracks, I suppose."

"Barracks? Were you in the war then?"

Will hesitated, so Djaq chimed in. "In a manner of speaking."

Unlike the others they'd encountered in Lincoln, Ranulf was not fazed by the site of a Saracen woman in his house. He merely smiled genially in her direction, acknowledging her words without comment.

"There's a village I hold. The manor house is in need of rebuilding. It caught fire three years ago. Struck by lightning." He beckoned his squire to fetch him parchment and a quill, and once he had the materials, the earl began to scribble quickly on the parchment.

"You'll be paid, of course. Twenty farthings a week, and a pound when the house is ready.

"One of my men is at the village now." He sealed his scribblings with wax and handed the parchment to Will. "Give this letter to him, and he'll see that you have a place to live in the village."

Will's mouth had fallen open and Djaq was tempted to reach over and push it closed. "Twenty what?"

Ranulf raised an eyebrow. "Is it not enough? I made inquiries in town about what builders were usually paid, and I understand it's quite generous."

"No, no. It's more than enough. More than my father made in half a year." Will looked down and shuffled his feet. His boots scuffed the floor, and Djaq could feel his struggle to find the right words. "With all due respect, my lord, why? If you would pay a man you've never seen before this much money, I have to wonder…"

"What's in it for me?" Ranulf finished. "Your discretion, Master Scarlett."

"I…I don't understand."

Ranulf considered them both with narrowed eyes. The friendly smile was gone and in its place was the hard visage of a man tested by battle. "You are very fortunate to be so small a man."

Will frowned, and in the way he stiffened Djaq sensed a challenge and rising anger. She tried to calm him with her fingers, but to no avail.

"I mean no insult, of course," Ranulf continued. "But you live a life that has no grand consequence. Nobody cares what you do or how you do it. That is not a gift given to men like me.

"You do not understand now, but I think you will in time." He inclined his head politely in their direction. "You should get going. The village is a day's walk south of Lincoln, and if you start now, you might be there by nightfall."

As Ranulf dismissed them, Will shook his hand to thank him and Djaq made the same gesture. He turned on his heel and left the hall.

Djaq exchanged a long look with Will. He seemed just as incredulous as she was. Good fortune had finally smiled on them and it seemed wrong to doubt it too much, even if it made no sense.

She took his arm as they walked out of the hall. "So where are we going?"

Will smiled and squeezed her hand. "Home, I hope," he said as he unfolded Ranulf's letter. She watched as he knit his brows in focus trying to read the words. "The name of the village is right here. Eagle."

-00-


End file.
